


The Post-War Dream

by Poles_Apart



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Bearded Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Dry Humor, F/M, Love Triangles, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, References to Addiction, References to Depression, Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Therapy, University, War, bucky has a good sense of humor, decent sized age gap, future chapters will heat up, named the lead "jane" as a sort of jane doe, slight power imbalance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22150252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poles_Apart/pseuds/Poles_Apart
Summary: Promptly, Bucky shook her light grip from his wrist and instead, unexpectedly claimed her waist with both palms, still cool from their walk through the snow. The girl’s eyes widened, taken aback, as she stumbled into his chest from the force of his snare. “You have no goddamn right to talk about anything related to honesty,” he said, almost gritting it out through his sudden flare of frustration. “You’ve known how I felt about you since the first time we met and still you make me go through the wringer to prove I’m not just some pet project!"The jab made her eyes soften. That much he noticed. “Bucky, no—” she began, wilted.“And all through the while,” Bucky continued feverishly. “You’re seeing my best friend. Yet, you continue all this bullshit about caring for me and listening to what I have to say. You don’t care—”Seamlessly, she used the support he provided to prop herself up on the tips of her boots, closing the height discrepancy between the two and cupped her gloved hands around the nape of his neck, then did the one thing she knew she could never do.She kissed him./or, bucky's an apprehensive veteran, she's a student doing research on ptsd, and he's the ideal candidate
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 22
Kudos: 93





	1. a guide to making a good impression

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! this is my first published story on here despite always having wanted to. i'll try and update as frequently as i can. slow burn but it'll pick up, i promise :) character's name is simply "jane" just because i don't like writing with "y/n" but she's a reader insert. cc is welcome!

_T_ he expansive classroom inside the local university’s basement’s array of lecture halls felt stiff within. The four-cornered room had cream linoleum tiles that didn't age well and a scattering of brown chairs with desks attached, featuring handmade posters featuring psychology facts taped up on the walls for special Wednesday evenings. On those special once-a-week nights, the empty classroom wouldn’t be filled with young undergraduates, but rather, a group of men aged thirty through sixty, who huddled around the refreshments table sipping stale coffee and discussing their lives amongst one another. 

James Barnes felt out of place in this room, both from having not attended university as well as being the youngest man in there at twenty-nine—youngest apart from his childhood best friend and organizer of said event, Steve, who was across the room warmly chatting with the attendees. 

James absentmindedly kicked the toe of his leather boots atop the pale tiled floor, arms crossed tightly until deciding to reach up to anxiously scratch at the nape of his neck, running his calloused fingertips over his cropped hair.  He tongued a back molar in his mouth, tasting the remainders of the bite-sized brownie he’d helped himself to from the refreshments table twenty minutes prior, gaze still trained on his closest friend interacting with the other veterans. 

He wasn’t supposed to be there, wasn’t _meant_ to, but it was Steve’s decision more than anyone else’s. If it was up to him, he would be at his favourite pub around the corner of his new apartment, downing a couple of beers before heading back home to fall asleep to the sounds of the early morning television program. 

Yet, the choice of his Wednesday evening’s activity was taken away only a month and a half after permanently returning back to his hometown, having served seven tours in the Middle East within the past eleven years, and failing to adjust properly back to civilian life according to his best friend.

Apparently, working at his own leisurely pace to find a normal job, maybe a girlfriend, and reunite with his family wasn’t up to Steve’s standards, especially when his pace included the majority of the days in a week spent at a nearby bar. 

Easier said than done, especially for Steve, who had been back in America a year longer than Bucky and was already looking nothing like what a soldier was _supposed_ to look like. Steve’s army fatigues had long been hung up and replaced with cashmere sweaters; a clean-shaven face and a buzzcut became a well-groomed auburn beard and nicely styled hair. He hadn’t slimmed down either, still retaining some of the bulk he’d gained in the army, and was walking around looking like the perfect guy to bring home to the family.

Even _more_ unlike James, Steve had reentered society smoothly without any slip-ups. He was warm, normal, caring, funny, and had a steady job while also founding a charity group at the local university to help veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder work through their experiences.

As such, James Barnes was forced to go, having been promised a neat glass of whiskey if he did.

James watched as Steve made eye contact with him from across the room, smiling at the men he spoke to before politely lifting a palm up to excuse himself. He walked directly to his best friend, settling by his spot leaning against the white plaster walls of the classroom, gazing out into the group of people with his arms crossed. 

“Listen, Bucky,” Steve began under his breath, tilting his jaw slightly to his friend’s direction. “I know you don’t like it, but it’ll be good for you, to know you’re not alone.” he promised.

James nudged him with his elbow and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Rogers,” he replied. “I already know I’m not alone—I’ve got _you._ Besides, I don’t want none of that cliché shit that this group seems to be perpetrating. I’m doing this to make _you_ happy, alright?” With a hint of a smile, Steve was satisfied, nodding quietly as he returned Bucky’s grin.

“The student leader will be here soon and when she is, that’s when it’ll start. I promise, it’s not as bad as you think it is. Who knows, maybe you’ll even make a new friend out of it?” 

“Why does this sound like you’re dropping me off to daycare?”

Steve dryly chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. 

“So this student—what’s she like? Just some snot-nosed eighteen-year-old student glued to her phone, always checkin’ up on Snapchat or whatever else is hot at the moment?” Bucky asked playfully.

That had touched something in Steve, prompting his eyebrows to immediately knit together as he stiffened up against the wall and shake his head. “No, no, absolutely not.” he answered diligently, ever the defensive, rightful gentleman who couldn’t take a joke if it meant it was at the expense of others. After a moment, he pursed his lips slightly, thinking. 

“She’s… _thoughtful_. Intelligent. Takes a lot of time to get to know her, but once you do, she’s a kind person; she’s funny, charismatic. She’s passionate about this group most of all, and that’s all I could ever ask for.” he continued.

Dumbfounded, James looked at Steve with wide open eyes, not expecting this type of caring into a defence. “ _Right,_ ” he said slowly, almost dismissively. “‘Sounds like my boy here’s got a bit of a crush.”

His best friend’s broad shoulders flattened against the wall behind him as he frowned once again, this time with a quick shake of his head. “No. Not at all.” he said quickly. “That would be inappropriate. I’m her _advisor,_ for Gods’ sake, Bucky. She’s barely an adult, anyways.” He looked to his feet among the chattering of the other men in the room, honing in distantly to try and evade the awkwardness he felt from being confronted with such an idea.

“That’s ‘kinda hot, no? A little teacher-student dynamic going on?” 

With a harsh jab into Bucky’s lower ribs delivered briskly by Steve’s forearm, he was silenced. “ _No._ ” Steve affirmed once more, this time looking earnestly at his friend. “Just… _no_.” 

Bucky feigned pain, dramatically rubbing the spot where he was struck with a flat palm skimming underneath his leather bomber jacket. “Sheesh. Still got a stick up your ass, huh, Rogers?” Bucky spoke.

Before Steve could open his mouth to utter a response, the double wooden doors swung open swiftly some odd twenty feet away, interrupting their bickering at the sound of the aged creaking. Rounding from behind one of the opened oak doors was a younger girl, already in the process of unravelling her knit scarf from around her neck and lower face upon entry. As the doors swung back closed, she walked to the centre of the classroom where the chairs were aligned in a circle facing one another, offhandedly waving to the veterans who recognized and greeted her. 

Steve nudged Bucky’s side without looking, instantly abandoning the styrofoam cup of cold coffee he was nursing on a nearby plastic table to follow the girl into the circle, leaving Bucky behind. Reluctantly, Bucky followed, trailing slowly behind the rest of the group who were starting to settle into what he assumed were their regular seats. 

Clueless and already feeling like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin, he picked a random chair, one whose desk was a little tarnished with doodles and scratches, and slid inside, feeling like he was back in grade school. As he outstretched his legs in front of him, boot-clad feet crossing over each other, he slumped back into his chair and eyed Steve, where he sat opposite to him in the circle beside the girl. 

Next to Steve, the girl removed her scarf to reveal a rosy nose and cheeks, obviously having come in freshly from the frigid weather outside, and presented a warm smile to the group as she nestled into her seat. “I’m sorry I’m a little late to this week’s meeting; my roommate’s car had some trouble in the snow, but I’m here now.” she began, seemingly looking into each individual member’s eyes as if speaking personally to them. 

As she spoke, she shrugged her brown hunting jacket off her shoulders to place over the back of her chair and fixed the bright orange beanie atop the crown of her head. Once settled, she rested her elbows against the surface of her desk and turned brightly to Steve. “Steven, do you want to take the lead while I bring out my notebook?” she prompted.

Bucky faintly registered Steve picking up where the girl left off, but he couldn’t focus on anything apart from dissecting every part of the girl his best friend spoke so highly off; he processed everything from the melting layer of snow on her white tennis shoes to the hammered gold necklace glinting along her collarbone underneath her black long-sleeved top. 

The tip of her button nose twitched slightly as she leaned over the desk to dig through her backpack beside her, removing a moleskin notebook that she laid out in front of her.  She was all rounded cheeks, still flushed from the cold, and thick, black eyelashes that fanned under her eyes as she blinked. 

She was pretty. No doubt about it. He figured it would be easy for Steve to have a thing for her.

Which, by alternating his glance between the young coed and his best friend, Bucky knew for fact. He could tell by the way Steve cleared his throat before speaking, eyeing the girl beside him from the corner of his eye as he hung onto every word he was about to say, almost as if awaiting her approval before continuing. She wrote mindlessly in her journal with a pen she’d fished out from the small pocket of her backpack, occasionally glancing at Steve to don an affirming smile.

It was bizarre. Bucky and Steve had been in the same company in the army throughout Steve’s tours in the Middle East. They’d been through Hell and high-water with one another, and Bucky had seen Steve in the heart of life-threatening situations countless times without losing his level-headedness, but only around a pretty girl would Steve Rogers lose his cool.

Not having realized he was zoning out, Bucky returned to focus on the girl’s face to register that she was returning his distant gaze with an even smile. Instinctively, Bucky grew rigid and looked away, furrowing his brow as he focused in on something irrelevant like the ugly flannel jacket one of the other older veterans was wearing to ward off the embarrassed heat that was spreading through his face.

The rest of the meeting went by without particularly garnering any of Bucky’s true attention. The discussions, lead primarily by Steve with the student supporting, varied from topic to topic, mostly focusing on the less severe symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder that the former troops were experiencing: nightmares, lack of sleep, anxiety, drinking problems. All issues that Bucky could relate to but never would admit publicly to. 

T hroughout the two hour duration of the meeting, Bucky acted uninterested, much to the chagrin of Steve, who was making it very clear that he wanted his friend to participate by way of introducing him to the rest of the group and shooting prompting looks at him every so often. Bucky didn’t care for it, for the pathetic self-loathing the group was practicing, and was adamant about not wanting to submit to the same behaviour. 

Whether or not Bucky was suffering through the same problems as the other veterans didn’t matter to him. He was only twenty-nine years old, still young, still had a proper chance at life, and he didn’t plan on flushing his future away by having his psyche dissolve under the choices he made since he was eighteen and a new army grunt. It was easier to blot out the pain and anguish; a habit he’d adopted long before he first even learned how to earn a kill as a sniper. 

Now that he was back in the U.S., it was even easier—a corner store was always just around the corner for him to buy either a pack of Parliaments or a bottle of bourbon to bring back home with him and help him sleep through the night a little better. If he didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist. The routine was simple and it worked: he’d be damned if grouptherapy sessions like this undid all the walls he put up and brought out everything he hated most about himself for a bunch of middle-aged men to see and hear.

Afterwards, when the meeting was finally over to Bucky’s delight, Steve met him at the concessions table, where he was mixing sugar into a new cup of coffee with a wooden stir stick. Accompanying Steve was his student prodigy, the two of them weaving through the now relaxed group of men who were amongst themselves, discussing the topics of the meeting in scatterings around the room.

“Buck, there’s someone I want you to meet.” A firm clap on his shoulder made Bucky jump, his lips already on the rim of his styrofoam cup about to indulge in a sip of cooled black coffee. He oriented himself to look to Steve, who stood behind him with a proud hand on his back as he presented Bucky to the girl standing opposite to them. “This is Jane. She’s a junior at the university helping me out with the group as a project for her second semester psychology class.” Steve spoke.

Slowly, Bucky removed the cup of coffee from his lips to size up the girl in front of him, so up close to him instead of across a circular group. He looked down at her shorter stature, subconsciously broadening his wide shoulders and standing straighter as he extended a loose hand out in front of him in greeting. 

The student, Jane, as he learned, eagerly took his larger hand in hers and clasped it, shaking it firmly. “It’s nice to meet you, James.” she said politely. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you. You were in the same company as Steven, from what I gather?”

“Same platoon, actually, yeah.” Bucky replied. “I just got back, actually.”

The girl nodded and looked to Steve, giving him a gentle smile. “Yes, I’ve heard. I’m thankful you decided to come today, James, as there’s an opportunity I have for you. You don’t have to say yes or anything, but I’m hoping you’ll think about it.” she said. Bucky felt the muscles in his shoulder blades tighten under Steve’s touch, turning his head to Steve and glaring at him subtly, feeling tricked.

“For Jane’s research project, in conjunction to helping me run the group, she’s privately interviewing each group member on a weekly basis to gather data that could potentially be used to develop research for PTSD.” Steve explained beside Bucky. “Now, I _know_ you’re not technically a regular member of the group and that you’re a little apprehensive to it, but I think you would be a really great candidate for it.”

Stunned, Bucky’s lips parted. Before he could say anything, Steve cut him off. 

“Just so you know, you would be compensated financially for participation.” 

Bucky shut his mouth, chewing on the inner side of his bottom lip. That changed things, for sure, especially considering that Bucky had yet to secure a stable, decent-paying job since returning.

In his peripheral, Jane took a step closer to Steve’s side. “I know you don’t know me at all, James, but I’m no professional,” Jane assured him.

Bucky abruptly snorted, subtly removing his shoulder from under Steve’s hand. “Oh, great,” he began. “That makes me feel better about doing it, for sure. I’d _love_ to be psychoanalyzed by some eighteen-year-old with no qualifications.” 

“That _should_ make you feel better. No psychoanalysis whatsoever.” Jane spoke. “Think of it more like a journal entry, but in person. It’s anonymous, private, and would be going towards something that has the potential to help thousands. All you need to do is speak to me once a week to check in with me.” 

“—but there’s nothing _wrong_ ,” Bucky interjected.

“There doesn’t _have_ to be,” Jane said. “If you’re one of the few people to walk away from war, mentally unscathed, then great—that’ll go right towards my research, too. It would be good for the discussion part of my paper to have an outlier, anyways.” 

A silence fell upon the three of them, the girl and Bucky looking intensely at one another, her having been ticked off by his arrogance and him by her insistence. After a moment of gathering his thoughts, Bucky looked to his feet. 

“I’m going to have to pass on that offer.” he said, nearly sneering at her audacity to suggest he needed whatever type of illegitimate therapy she was offering. “But I _appreciate_ the offer. Best of luck on your _research._ Steve, I’ll see you around.” 

Bucky turned on his heel, discarding his full coffee into the trash can nearby as he headed out towards the door. “Buck—!” Steve called distantly. “What about that whiskey I owe you?”

“I’ll have to take a rain check.” With a curt wave behind his back on the way out, Bucky left.

As soon as he exited the university building, his phone buzzed. A text from Steve.

_XXX-XXX-XXXX. Jane’s number. Don’t hesitate to call, please._

He heavily contemplated deleting the text on way back to his modest apartment. The mid-winter air was especially harsh that evening, making him all the more bitter, and having got out of the group's meeting at eight-thirty, the forecasted winds and incoming snow was starting to pick up right as Bucky got out of the subway; his bomber jacket didn't particularly do much against the cold, either.

Really, all he wanted to do was return back home, even if that meant a tiny studio apartment, and pouring himself a nice glass of bourbon to make up for the whiskey he'd lost out on. If he wasn't too tired later in the night, he'd maybe even check up on any old high school flings that were around town. Regardless, the last thing he wanted to occupy his thoughts for the remainder of the evening was the possibility of becoming a test subject for research on PTSD.

Yet, when the toe of his shoe caught on a cream-coloured envelope on the floor in front of his apartment's door, he stilled.

Removing his boot from the center paper, a bright red stamped phrase read out on the corner: _EVICTION NOTICE - RENT DUE._

Maybe, after all, he'd give that student advisor a call. 


	2. five thirty-two a.m.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky decides to accept the opportunity to be interviewed in order to get money to pay for his apartment.

_W_ ith a jolt, Bucky was awake.

In a heap of a tangled white cotton duvet and limbs made sticky from sweat, he curled his body inwards on itself from how he laid on his side, tucking his long legs in on themselves and drawing his knees upwards against the mattress. With a stifled groan of awareness, he stirred further, pawing tiredly at his eyes in his silhouetted room. Dropping his hand to his bare chest, he lolled his head to the right, eyeing the red alarm clock on his bedside table, reading five thirty-two in the morning. 

With a defeated sigh, he turned his head back to face up at the ceiling, eyes closing as he blindly reached an arm over to the side table to retrieve his trusty pack of Parliaments and Bic lighter. While he wasn’t technically allowed to smoke indoors in his apartment, the movement of picking open the carton to retrieve a fresh cigarette and sticking it between his teeth was second nature by now. 

Still a bit dazed from haven been woken up so abruptly by his own fault, Bucky propped himself up on his elbow, the thick duvet gathering at his hips, before he raked a hand haphazardly over his outgrown buzzcut. With a quick flick of his lighter in front of his mouth, the end of his cigarette became engulfed in a yellow-orange flame, casting the warm glow over Bucky’s frowning face. At the first drag, Bucky flopped onto his back.

Night terrors had always been common place in Bucky’s life, ever since he could remember. While he was vaguely aware that serving eleven years in the army couldn’t possibly be _good_ for his nightmares, they hadn’t gotten worse nor better, only ever consistent. Hell, it even came in handy occasionally: rarely being able to sleep past five every other night had its perks, especially when it was your time to stay up for watch while camping out thirty miles outside of Baghdad. 

However, since he’d been back in the U.S., it was just a nuisance.

Whenever he found himself time after time again awake in the early hours of the morning, he typically would pass the time by listening to cassettes until he got tired enough to fall back asleep, but he didn’t feel like removing himself from his warm bed, not yet, anyways.

Absentmindedly, he pinched the filter of the cigarette, inhaling deeply to invite a fresh pool of smoke into his chest as he shuffled up atop the mattress into a seated position, leaning his bare shoulders against the headboard. Offhandedly glancing out towards the balcony attached to his bedroom, looking through the glass sliding doors, he blinked dumbly as he focused in on the glimmering lights of the skyscrapers he could see even from his pigeonhole apartment in Harlem. He wondered what the place in Brooklyn where he grew up in looked like; his folks had moved out ages ago into a smaller place in Manhattan when Bucky was twenty-six. He’d heard about it in a voicemail from his mother while on tour.

He plucked his phone from where it was charging on the nightstand beside him, swiping it unlocked and immediately toning down the brightness of the screen after having cringed, his eyes straining at the abrupt change in light. He checked up on some of the notifications at the top of his screen: a couple e-mails here and there, reminders from himself to go pick up groceries the following morning, a Facebook friend request from one of the guys in his last company, Sam. 

Steve’s unread text from a couple days ago lingered at the top of the notifications wall. 

Attached was that girl’s cellphone number. 

Bucky snorted to himself, swiping down on the screen to expand the conversation between him and Steve to dismiss the alert. He didn’t recognize the area code in the student’s phone number; definitely wasn’t a New York number, that much was for certain. He read Steve’s message once more over. _Jane._

Through another drag of the cigarette, now nearly half finished, Bucky reflected on the meeting, how it felt like years ago when really, it had barely only been a couple days. He’d even forgotten certain details about what Steve’s student looked like, save for her little golden necklace and the rosiness on her nose from the cold—Bucky definitely remembered _that_. 

Apart from her, Steve had called him the following afternoon to check in, see whether or not Bucky liked the group therapy, and to also clarify when that whiskey he owed him could be delivered, but otherwise, they hadn’t spoken as of recently. 

His thumb, which was hovering over the underlined phone number, jerked, the pad of his thumb nudging it. 

A new conversation opened up on the screen.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered to himself, instantly extending his thumb to hold over the cancel button. After a moment, Bucky exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was suppressing, relaxing against the headboard, taking another quick inhale of the nearly done cigarette and expelling the smoke out towards the air conditioning unit by his bed. The rent due notice he found a few days ago came to mind.

After a minute of just staring at the blank speech bubble that was ready for him to fill with a message, he relaxed, his thumb darting across the keyboard as he typed. _Hi, it’s Bucky Barnes. Hopefully you remember me. You said there was financial compensation if I participated in your study?_ He paused, reexamining the message he’d typed out.

“No, that’s fuckin’ stupid.” he mumbled passively to himself, making quick work of repeatedly tapping the delete backspace on his phone’s keyboard. Leaning over for a moment, he stubbed out the cigarette in the silver ashtray atop the wooden headboard of his bed’s frame. He sat, thinking, for a moment, staring at the screen once more.

_It’s James from the group meeting, Steve’s friend. He told me to text you._

Yet again, rereading the message caused Bucky to grunt before discarding it.

_Hi._

He pressed send, the message manifesting in a bright blue speech bubble.

Feeling his heart race, he pinched the bridge between his eyes, dropping his unlocked phone onto the little canopy made by the duvet in his lap, anticipating a grey bubble within the following moments. 

Eyeing the automatic clock at the top of his phone’s screen made him reconsider. It was, after all, five in the morning; there was a slim to none chance that an answer would be provided quickly. Bucky picked up his cellphone again, drawing his knees up so his the soles of his feet were pressed against the comforter. 

Without thinking, he clicked the girl’s number and pressed call. 

As soon as the phone met Bucky’s ear, he was met with a direct voicemail.

“What—?” he said, drawing the phone away. He tried once more.

The second attempt he was met with a dialling chime when he yet again tucked the phone between his ear and naked shoulder. Absentmindedly, as he waited for the call to go through, he untucked the hem of the bedsheet from where it was caught on the elastic waistband of his boxers and readjusted it so it was draped over his hips, just over the sparse trail of light brown hair leading down his lower abdomen. 

He wasn’t honestly sure what he was doing, calling some college student at five in the morning who he only met once just so he could ensure he could get some sort of a paycheque before the month ended and he was evicted. He got _some_ money from the army and a little saved from his parents’ high school graduation gift, but it was draining quicker than Bucky thought possible. 

Before he could think twice, his anxiety getting the best of him, the dial tone cut out.

On the other line, a sleepy, gentle moan of stirring rang out, and Bucky grew stiff.

“Hello?”

He wasn’t sure what to say, how to respond appropriately. _Hi, it’s Bucky Barnes—the guy who gave you shit about being unqualified and spoke down on your entire project! Got any hand-outs you’re looking to give me in exchange for a peak into my psyche?_

Clearing his throat once, Bucky licked his lips and held his mouth ajar, thinking. 

“Hey.” he said firmly.

He heard slight shuffling on the other line. “I’m sorry, wh—who is this?” the girl asked apprehensively. “It’s, what—five o’clock in the morning? Who would be calling me at this time?”

“It’s James; James Barnes.” Bucky answered. “You know…Steve’s friend? He—uh, gave me your number and said I could call you whenever.” 

There was a halt of silence, the lack of noise achingly uncomfortable as she digested the information. “Oh. _Oh!_ ” she exclaimed, catching Bucky off guard at her sudden eagerness. “Right, yes! I remember you; of course I do. Um, well, what’s up, James?” she asked awkwardly, her flat reply prompting a slight smile to cock at the corner of Bucky’s lips at her lack of social prose.

“Well, I think I want to volunteer for your research project. To bring in a little extra income.

“Oh, awesome, okay.” the girl said warmly, the news seemingly haven properly awaken her despite the hour. “So, yeah, I explained a little bit in person, but the gist of it is we meet once a week, give or take, and we just sort of work through some of the stuff you saw while on tour and how you think it impacted you—and, I—I _know_ you said that there was, um, nothing _wrong_ with you, so to speak, but that _also_ is acceptable information that could be contributed to data, so that would work.”

Bucky felt himself cringe at the premise and the ridiculousness of it all; the last thing he wanted to do was waste an hour or two of his day once a week talking about his soppy _feelings_ and how _damaged_ he was, all for it to be passed onto some professor who he’d never met and possibly, to hundreds.

Yet, money was money, and he needed it desperately.

“Alright.” Bucky replied plainly. “Meet? Like, at the university?”

“Not necessarily.” the girl answered. “We can meet anywhere you want; a coffee shop, a library, the university, even. Whatever works best for you. If you think whatever you have to say to me on that particular day could be said over the phone or text, that also is fine with me.”

Bucky hummed in reply.

“We can have our first meeting tomorrow—or, actually, I guess it would be _today,_ later on?”

Bucky nodded, taking him a second before realizing she couldn’t actually _see_ him. “Yeah, okay.”

“We can get coffee or something; just shoot me a text at a decent time and let me know a few hours in advance so I can confirm I don’t have a class.” she spoke. 

“So, that’s it?” Bucky asked.

“That’s it.” the girl confirmed. “You can get back to sleep now, James.”

“What makes you think I was sleeping?” quipped Bucky sardonically, making the other girl airily laugh on the other line. He felt a small bloom in the depth of his chest, an inflation of confusion at the fact that she’d interpreted that as an intentional quip rather than a dismissive question like he intended. “Maybe I get up every morning at five-thirty. Could be just another symptom of having experienced war.” he joked dryly, toying at a loose thread on the hem of his boxers. 

The girl stifled a light chuckle on the other end again. “Maybe I should look into it.” she said. 

“Yeah, jot that down into your notebook. It could be an unforeseen sign of a damaged mind.”

“You _do_ have to be pretty messed up in order to _want_ to wake up at five every morning.”

“That’s what you signed up for,” he said. “Hope you’re prepared.”

The student echoed another laugh. “I’ve seen worse. By this rate, you’ll be my best one yet.”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “Or the worst. Never say never.” he spoke.

“No,” she said gently. “I have faith in you, James. What I _don’t_ have faith in, however, is my level of attention I’ll have in class tomorrow from the sleep you’ve taken from me, so I should be getting back to sleep.”

Bucky nodded, the barely-present smile on his lips fading slowly. “Alright. Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, James. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

By the time he ended the call, Bucky figured maybe being a test subject wouldn’t be _that_ bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of a filler chapter, just to get it over with. little bit more backstory for bucky's character and a bit of harmless banter at five thirty-two in the morning.


	3. handshake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky and the student have their first interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the the kudos, bookmarks, and hits so far! it means a lot to me that people are enjoying what i'm putting out. things are slowly but surely building :)

_H_ e wasn’t precisely sure why, but Bucky shaved before going to his meeting with the student.

He’d gone a little crazy with the newfound liberty of being able to grow facial hair after being discharged that he had managed to grow a pretty decent beard for the first time in his life. He liked how it felt when he ran his fingers across his jawline when it was dampened after a fresh shower, liked how it transformed his usual clean-cut soldier’s appearance into something that looked a little more domestic. 

It was, however, getting a little out of hand, considering he hadn’t shaved since returning to the U.S., a month and a half prior. Considering he never was the owner of a beard before, he wasn’t sure how to tame anything that wasn’t the usual five o’clock shadow he was used to a day after shaving when he was deployed. 

As such, he consulted Steve, sending a text that simply read: _How do I make my beard look nice?_

Steve directed him to use an electronic shearer, the same pair that Bucky had owned since he was eighteen, when he first had to shave his head before going to bootcamp, found in the middle drawer of his still unpacked bathroom sink. 

He realized in the midst of trimming the facial hair off that it was the first time in a while that he was actually putting in an effort to take care of himself. Rarely would he do anything more than a simple shower and a shave; the world of grooming and styling that Steve adopted when he got back was practically unheard of to Bucky. 

So, before actually leaving to his meeting with the student, he put in some effort.

After rinsing the sink’s basin of the excess beard trimmings, he doused his palms in cool water and combed it haphazardly through his shorter and sleeker beard in an attempt to make it look a little more clean like Steve’s was. 

His hair, still in the process of gradually outgrowing a buzzcut, required little to be done to it, and while he recognized the dark shadows beneath his eyes, he didn’t have anything to make them look nicer. Once dressed in a simple crewneck and jeans, he felt the urge to dab a couple drops of some cologne he’d had since junior high—just for good measure.

And then there he was, a man transformed, standing in the doorway of the Starbucks not far from the university campus, looking neat and cared for and completely unlike what he was used to. He scanned the room as he unzipped his parka, huffing hot breath into his bare palms to get them warmer, until he spotted what he was looking for.

Across the room, near a fireplace, was the girl he was looking for, her legs curled up under her as she sat nestled in a leather armchair. With the same brown oversized hunting jacket she wore the night of the group session laid around her lower waist, she took sips of the drink she ordered before his arrival in between flipping through pages of her notebook, still unnoticing of his entry.

It wasn’t until Bucky stood just beside her, all imposing appeal and well-hidden nervousness about the interview, that she took notice, glancing up at him from her place in her notebook while plucking out the earbuds she wore. She put her notebook aside, preparing to rise to shake hands, when Bucky stopped her with a courteous open palm, prompting her to slide back into her seat.

She looked at him with a bright expression as she gestured to the matching leather armchair opposite to her, watching as he slid off his puffer coat to drape over the back of the armchair, seating himself in the spot where she wanted him. Upon sitting down, he widened the gap between where both his feet were planted on the cafe’s tile floors, resting his forearms on his knees to lean forward. 

With a tilted head, he subtly eyed her as she put her notebook back onto her lap, uncapping a pen with her mouth.

The girl looked different this time, less disheveled than she did when she was late to the meeting. Instead of the neon orange knit beanie she wore before, her hair was pulled into a ponytail, showing off dainty, thin golden hoop earrings in each lobe piercing to match the necklace Bucky remembered from last time. 

The thick cable knit sweater she wore in addition to the lack of visible makeup made her look even younger and fresh-faced than before.  She met his gaze with the same thick eyelash-framed eyes as last time, catching him equally as off guard as when she did during the group meeting..

“James,” she greeted warmly, sizing him up with a curious eye. “You made it. I’m glad.”

Bucky nodded, pushing off his knees to settle back against the armchair. “Would hate to miss it.”

She brushed off his curt quip with pursed lips and a slow nod. “How’ve you been?” she asked, a slight frown on her shaped eyebrows. “You been finding it pretty hard to get back to daily life now that you’re back?”

Bucky scoffed lightly and shrugged, clasping his hands together. “Wow, getting into the hard-hitting stuff already, huh?” he replied, somewhat bemused.

He expected her to continue, to dip her toes further into the prying. Instead, she smiled carefully. “I haven’t started.” she said. “I was just asking. Polite conversation, you know?”

That hit Bucky flat in the chest, his defensive response having sounded like the most brainless thing in his eyes; he was used to being in control of the situations, of always knowing when and how something would play out. It felt utterly idiotic to him that he didn’t even consider the fact that when it came down to it, they were just two people having coffee and chatting—nothing more, nothing less. 

He swallowed down the lump in his throat. “I’ve, uh…I’ve been doing good, yeah. ‘Been meaning to go by my parents’ place in the Upper West Side to check in on them, but I haven’t gotten ‘round to it yet. The last time I saw them was when they threw my homecoming party, y’know, just a little family get-together.” he said. “What about you?”

The girl’s eyes widened, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Huh?” she responded dumbly.

A small smile played at Bucky’s lips. “I asked how _you_ were doing.” he clarified.

“Oh,” the girl murmured, a soft rosiness spreading through her lower jaw. Bucky noted that. “I’m not really used to _being_ the one asked questions. Good, I guess; I’m tired, mostly. Classes have been a lot and being far from home has sort of affected me in more ways than I expected. You went to college?”

Bucky shook his head, watching as she unwound her notebook’s leather bounding and held pen to paper. “No, my parents pressured me into it while I was in high school, but I wasn’t much of an academic.” he explained. The girl was quick to subtly jot something down. 

“Why the military, then?” 

“Partially because I wanted to make some money for myself and partially because I have a family history of military men. My parents aren’t _poor_ by any means of the word, but I didn’t want to just have everything given to me for the rest of my life, wanted to actually provide for _myself._ ” Bucky said. “So I went and became one of the most decorated snipers in American military history. Once I joined and got the hang of things, I got into a rhythm and didn’t feel like there was much back home for me, anyways.”

The girl opposite to him paused, taking her eyes away from the paper to look at him. “Got the hang of things as in…?” she prompted quietly.

Bucky blinked slowly. “Got the hang of shooting people, I mean.” he stated.

Having received her answer, the girl lowered her head and nodded. “I’m sorry.” she said.

“No need to be sorry.” Bucky waved his hand dismissively. “I just wanted to be honest.”

She processed this. “Right. Honesty’s the most important thing in these discussions.” she said.

Bucky hummed in reply. “The first couple times were hard, sure, but you become desensitized to it pretty quickly, which is a good thing in a war zone. Plus, I had Steve.” he said. “Not every guy’s lucky enough to have his best friend with him in the same company, that’s for sure. Between him and the time I passed reading, time went by pretty fast and painlessly.” 

“Painlessly?”

“I mean,” he began. “I felt guilt. Pain. Hurt. All of those aren’t exactly foreign concepts to _any_ veteran. I assume that was the answer you were looking for. But, if you’re decent enough at following commands and getting something achieved without second guessing, you can climb the ranks quickly and make a name for yourself.” 

“Was it hard being away from family, from home?”

Bucky shrugged offhandedly. “Family, not so much. I know maybe that makes me sound like a bit of a dick,” he chuckled dryly. “but I was always the independent one; in high school, I’d always sneak out whenever I could to spend the night at someone else’s after a party, spend hours wandering around the city to get some alone time. In a way, I was craving it: the freedom that being on my own at eighteen, _finally_ making a decision for _myself_. Being in the army taught me a ‘helluva lot more than going to college ever would have.” 

The girl across from him bumped his knee accidentally with the tip of her crossed feet, shifting her gaze from her scribbled notes to him. “I should join the army, then?” she joked halfheartedly.

“Well, if you’re trying to get some research on post-traumatic stress disorder, you’d get a firsthand look at it all.” 

She pursed her lips at this, looking down to her lap, to the crease in her jeans over her crossed thighs, thumbing the paper rim of her hot drink thoughtfully. “I think you’re a good enough source for me.” she replied under her breath after a moment. After a beat of silence, she glanced back up at him, exchanging her gloomy, pensive expression for a very clearly synthetic smile. “Sorry—I forgot to ask. Do you want anything to drink, to eat? It’ll be my treat.” she asked.

Bucky blinked, his mind suddenly blank, ridden of the rolling memories of nights spent in the Eastern desert and instead becoming wholly clear. “I’m alright, thanks.” he responded. He watched her, waiting, then stretched out his arms in front of him, cracking the knuckles in his fingers. “Was that an alright account for our first meeting?” 

The girl nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes,” she said. “that was great; thank you, James.”

He considered the answer, suddenly feeling bored and drained of speaking so reminiscently of his past as a soldier—a soldier Bucky was tailored to become and a soldier he would always _be_ , that part of his identity could never be erased or forgotten. 

As far as he was concerned, he still _was_ a soldier and always _would_ be, regardless of if he was walking on the streets of a paved, congested metropolis instead of a dismantled city. To account so candidly of his livelihood—his personhood—felt dissociative. 

“Is there anything else you wanted to tell me, about what you’re up to now that you’re out?”

Bucky shook his head. “Nah, ‘don’t think there’s anything in particular that stands out.” he said.

“And you’ve been doing… _well?_ ” she continued. “No psychological or physical effects?”

“Of being discharged? No.” It was his version of the truth that was an obvious fabrication to anyone but himself; first and foremost, Steve could see it, and while Bucky hated to admit it, Steve knew him better than anyone else. 

Especially having experienced more or less the same things, Steve was acutely aware that despite his personality remaining unchanged, the James Barnes that had returned from active deployment was nothing like who he was before underneath it all.  He still had the boyish cockiness, the looks, the dry and sarcastic humor, but something intrinsically within Steve indicated something was off.

Not that Bucky noticed it.

The student jotted down one final note amongst the already filled page of her entry. “Okay, then.” she said. “I just need you to sign at the bottom of this page, just to confirm that this account is yours and yours only.” 

She offered the journal to him, closing the gap between their two armchairs, to which Bucky accepted and propped up on his knee. He took the pen from her short thereafter, briefly scanning through the practically illegible handwriting before finding a small space at the bottom left corner, signing as James Buchanan Barnes. “There you go.” he spoke, passing the journal back to its rightful owner.

“Thanks.” The girl took the journal from him and slipped it into her already unzipped backpack by her foot, tossing the pen she’d given to him in along with it. “I appreciate you doing this for me, James.” 

Bucky watched as she stood, picking up her hunting jacket from where it was draped over the chair and slipping it atop her thick sweater. “I’m not doing this for you.” Bucky answered, the crass reply catching the girl’s attention in a strained stare, her pace at packing slowing. “To be blunt, which was always one of my best attributes, I’m doing this for the money.” 

The student relaxed a little, lowering herself down to close her rucksack and put it over her back. She rose, standing back to her full stature over him. “You’re short on cash?” she asked. The short cock of his head confirmed her suspicion. Buttoning up her quilted jacket, she thought, processing his answer. “I usually pay per session, but…if it’s _urgent_ , I can wire you the money now ahead of time. That just means there will be an allotted amount of times we’ll have to meet to fully pay it off, no buts.”

Bucky was caught off guard, gazing, stunned, up at her from where he sat still in his armchair below her. “I… _yeah_ , alright.” he managed to say, licking his lower lip once over. “No complaints here. That would be great.” 

The girl studied his reaction for a minute before nodding. “No worries. This was a good first meeting, James. I’ll see you again sometime next week?” she prompted. Bucky offered a short smile in return. “Maybe I’ll even see you at the group next Wednesday?” To that request, Bucky was less thrilled, his face twisting dramatically.

“Just next week should be enough for me.” he answered before realizing that she was fully dressed in front of him, clad in her heavy winter coat and boots, complete with wool gloves and all. “You walking back to campus now?” he asked, gesturing to her readiness to head out.

She shook her head. “I’m actually meeting somebody for lunch in a bit.” she said.

Bucky nodded, feeling unsure of how else to continue apart from abruptly leaning over the gap between their seats to grab her nearly forgotten cup of coffee. “You almost forgot this.” He held the paper-cup coffee in one hand, feeling the warmth of the hot drink atop his bare fingers, and handed it to her open hands.

“Oh, right,” she said. “Thank you! So, I’ll see you next week, then?”

“Just shoot me a text.”

Awkwardly, she extended her free hand, skin obscured by the blue knitting of the wool mitten. Bucky looked at it for a moment before registering what she wanted. As expected from him, he met her awaiting open hand with his larger one, wrapping his fingers around hers and shaking it gently. 

A handshake. 

“Good to have met you, James.”

Bucky released her hand from his grip, allowing it to drop low by her hip. She gave him a once-over, simply checking up to make sure he was alright and she hadn’t forgotten anything, before giving him a small wave goodbye.

Then, she turned around and headed out the glass exit not far from their seats.

His calloused hands still buzzed from the delicate, fuzzy material of her gloves.


	4. pastries delivered fresh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky goes to surprise steve with freshly baked bagels on a sunday morning and, well, runs into somebody there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there! thank you for the support so far, i appreciate it a lot. i just quickly wanted to say before this chapter that i'm trying to write bucky's condition with as best accuracy as i can, and as such, how he acts could be interpreted him as not having any trauma whatsoever. that being said, people with ptsd being often portrayed as consistently depressed and bleak in media is a trope - those with ptsd are real, lively people with personalities and quirks, just like anybody else. later on in the story we'll be delving into more of bucky's pain. cheers!

_W_ aiting for him atop his kitchen counter, adjacent to the coffeemaker and kettle, was a note that Bucky found. Hastily scribed, loopy blue ink, written on a neon pink Post-it note, it read only a short couple words: _Thanks for the night. Call me. Emma. xx._ Bucky picked it up with a pinched index and thumb, taking it from one of the loose corners and peeling it off from the faux marble countertop, reading it once-over before tossing it back near the kettle. 

Turning around away from his kitchen, he padded back down the narrow hallway he came from, bare feet still dampened from his recent shower and leaving silhouettes of condensation with every step. Knowing he was then alone, as indicated from the note, he turned the lock on the front door on his way to his bedroom before undoing the knotted grey towel that was slung around his lower hips. 

He smoothly kicked open his closed bedroom door with his toe, simultaneously removing the towel to expose his entirely naked form, instead using the towel to rub over his still-wet hair. Small droplets of warm water remained in beads on his skin, spanning all across hardened muscle and jagged scars. 

Offhandedly, he met his own reflection in the thin mounted mirror above hanging above his oak dresser, of which was still decorated with two cardboard moving boxes, still unpacked from his recent move-in. As he reached to rifle through one of the boxes in search of deodorant, he eyed the unmade, disheveled bed behind him. 

Only mere hours ago was he in there, tangled amongst a mess of sheets and another body, that of his cute neighbour from the seventh floor. The one that he met on move-in day, the one he knew instantly could be a source of enjoyable company.

The evening before began with a brief text to her, Emma, inviting her up to Bucky’s apartment sometime around one o’clock in the morning. He was already beer-sodden by the time she came and the two were quick to get down to business; it wasn’t there first time sleeping together and surely wouldn’t be their last. 

Bucky supposed what made it work so well was owed to the fact that they didn’t know anything about one another—all he knew about her was her name, Emma, and her job, a veterinary technician. The lack of feelings and mutual desire for company made it easy, and while it wasn’t much, but it was enough. 

After applying a fresh layer of the deodorant he’d found in his moving boxes, Bucky scrubbed the cotton towel over his hair and beard, then skimmed the rest of his bare body with it. It was a Sunday morning and to Bucky, it felt like the right day to head over to Brooklyn and surprise Steve with some freshly baked bagels and pastries for breakfast. 

He’d done it a couple times already since he’d been back, had travelled the relatively straightforward subway ride and popped his head into the local Jewish bakery near Steve’s place to present him with his favourite everything bagels.

Accordingly, Bucky brewed himself a quick cup of black coffee on his Keurig to down while he was getting dressed for the day, while at the same time, lazily remaking his disordered bed that still smelled of the fruity perfume his neighbour wore. Once he was finished, having downed the last of his coffee, he slipped on a black Yankees baseball cap complete with his favourite pair of aviators and a scarf.

In no time did he find himself on the A line, carrying a brown paper bag full of warm bagels and a few loaves of chocolate babkas, subtly bobbing his head to his favourite The Killers song playing in his ear from his phone. 

The subway rides to Steve’s early in the morning were always some of Bucky’s favourites; the lack of people there that early on a Sunday morning made for a peaceful ride, abundant with seats that he could curl up into and tune out, and there was never anybody who messed with him.

By the time he got down to Steve’s apartment in Bushwick, he felt good— _really_ good. 

He wasn’t sure if it was how promisingly delicious the baked goods smelled from where he cradled them or if it was because he’d just listened through one of his most beloved albums in entirely, but he was climbing the stairs to the apartment with a certain spring in his step. 

He considered maybe his happiness was perhaps even attributed to the fact he had just gotten laid for the first time in a bit and was still riding off the satisfied high.

Regardless, when Bucky knocked on Steve’s apartment door, it was with a songlike triple knock. 

He waited for a moment, dramatically leaning his forehead on the front door, the bill of his baseball cap shifting out of the way as he let out a long moan. “Stevie,” he sang. “It’s me. Open up, I know you’re awake.” Bucky wasn’t lying, he knew Steve _would_ be awake at this time—long before, in fact. 

His best friend had adopted the habit of waking up at the crack of dawn each morning to get in his daily workout routine, and predictably, whenever Bucky would come by with bagels and treats, Steve would consequentially always be a little sweaty. 

It was when he heard shuffling and footsteps behind the heavy wooden door that Bucky removed his forehead from where it was pressed against it. “Yeah, Buck—just—give me a second, alright?” Steve called out distantly from inside his place, prompting Bucky to sigh and step back from the door, adjusting his grip on the paper bag as he leaned back against the brass railing framing the stairs behind him.

“Sure, but you _know_ not to keep me waiting!” Bucky teased loudly, removing his sunglasses from the bridge of his nose to put them over the forehead of his baseball cap. “I like it given to me _fast_ and _as soon as I ask for it—!_ ” He was just making a point to embarrass Steve in the audible range of any of his neighbours who were awake by that point.

Before he could continue his over-the-top onslaught, the door to Steve’s place cracked open a couple inches and his best friend came out, wedging himself in between the small gap between the door and the frame. 

Dressed only in a thin white v-neck and grey sweatpants, Steve looked like he was doing anything except having just finished an intense workout. Leaning an arm against the door, Steve ran a hand through his sleep-messed hair as he sized Bucky up. “Hey, what’s up?” Steve asked.

Bucky frowned, pushing himself off from where he leaned on the railing. He shook the paper bag he brought with one hand expectingly in front of where Steve stood. “ _Hello?_ I brought bagels and these little chocolate loaves of bread the baker lady forced me to buy.” Bucky said, starting to close to gap between him and Steve. As he did, he couldn’t help but notice Steve shut the door ever so slightly. 

Steve sighed, shaking his head gently as he looked to his bare feet on the hardwood. “I appreciate it, I do,” he began. “but now isn’t exactly the best time to do it.” 

That piqued a strange reaction in Bucky, who twisted his face in overly emphasized confusion. “Nonsense, Steve.” he replied, placing a flattened palm on the door Steve was securing semi-closed. “James Buchanan Barnes doesn’t take no for an answer when it comes to Sunday bagels and lox.”

“Bucky, _really—_ I’m serious—” 

Sharply, Bucky shushed him. Still not recognizing the weight of Steve’s protests, he moved forward. “You know what else is serious? How amazing these bagels are, especially when they’re fresh out of the oven and hot, which they soon _won’t_ be if you keep rejecting them. ‘C’mon, if it’s because you’re in your leisurewear, I don’t mind; I’ve seen you naked before. I don’t really care.” he said.

Steve tried once more to open his mouth in objection, but Bucky was quicker in swiftly pushing the front door to Steve’s apartment open past his friend, nudging Steve’s shoulder as it swung open. 

He definitely wasn’t expecting what Steve was holding him back from.

Sitting on the pale yellow sofa facing the far fire escape, with her legs tucked in under herself, holding a portable cup of coffee and shifting uncomfortably at the forced intruder, was Steve’s student.

Bucky could’ve dropped the bagels he was holding, lips parting in surprise as his eyes widened, honing in on the girl. She watched Bucky with the same equal shock, looking like a deer in headlights as she visibly swallowed. 

Still a little stunned, he was only vaguely aware of his best friend’s heavy sigh behind him, closing the front door behind him. He was still stuck on _her,_ the girl, dressed in a pair of tight olive green leggings and an oversized band shirt, messy hair spun up into a bun atop her head. 

His first instinct was to whirl around, excitedly jab a finger at his best friend and proclaim that _he was right_ —Steve _did_ have a crush on the girl, and more than that, they were _fucking._ Yet, when he did, Steve was awaiting him with his open palms raised in front of him, nervously eyeing Bucky. 

“ She beat you to it, that’s all.” Steve spoke. “We’re having a meeting about the group therapy and she was kind enough to bring the coffee to me. She was just about to show me some of the data she’s collected.” 

Bucky felt his excitement blow over, his chest deflating slightly as Steve rounded from behind him to cross over into his living room, assuming his spot on the couch beside the girl where his own Starbucks was waiting on the coffee table. 

“Hi, James.” said the girl meekly. “It’s, um, nice to see you.” 

It wasn’t until Bucky took a stilted few steps closer to them that he noticed the propped open laptop atop the girl’s knees, illuminating her face with a dim white cast. The small glimmer of hope that Bucky was holding onto, that they _had_ just finished sleeping together like he first expected, was smothered out at the sight of typed spreadsheets on her computer’s screen. 

He felt stupid, like an overexcited frat boy that had all the wrong, naive ideas. 

Ashamed, mostly, that he would actually be so quick to think Steve would have slept with her. After all, what Steve had said at the Wednesday meeting was right; there _was_ a slight power imbalance between them with him being her supervisor of sort, and Steve would definitely not be one to tamper with that. Despite the shit Bucky gave him initially about his suspected crush on the girl, Steve was too good.

Bucky relaxed his shoulders, placing the bag of baked goods on the coffee table in front of them and plopping himself down in the recliner diagonal to the sofa where Steve and the girl sat. “Shit, sorry.” Bucky said, pinching the bridge between his nose. “I didn’t realize this was a work thing. You both can enjoy the bagels; I should probably leave you guys to it.”

The girl’s eyebrows knitted together. “What—no,” she began, making Steve’s eyes dart in her direction. “we just finished the confidential stuff; you’re fine. Please, _stay,_ enjoy the coffee and bagels.” Bucky looked to Steve as if checking for permission, to which he was given a timid, submissive glance. “Steven and I got through the work stuff. I’d like it if you stayed and hung out with us.” she continued.

“Okay.” Bucky said slowly. “If you’re _sure._ I don’t want to intrude on anything professional.”

The girl shook her head and closed her laptop, discarding it onto the coffee table. “Not at all.” she assured him. A hint of a grin lifted at the seam of her heart-shaped lips. “Besides. I wouldn’t mind trying out some of the fresh-out-of-the-oven bagels and chocolate loaves I heard you hyping up so much.”

That made Bucky snort lightly, gesturing with a cock of his head to the bag. “Help yourself.”

She leaned forward, planting her fuzzy sock-clad feet on the floor to investigate the folded paper bag in front of her. Parting the opening, she peered inside, her eyes lighting up at the sight of what was inside. “Ooh,” she sang to herself. “This looks awesome. Steven, do you want some?” she asked.

Steve nodded offhandedly. “That would be nice, thank you.” he answered. 

The girl then stood up, circling the left end of the couch to head towards the kitchenette not far from the communal area. With her back turned to them as she went on the tips of her toes to begin opening up cabinets in search of plates, Bucky shifted to lean on his knees closer to Steve. “Are you okay with me being here?” he asked with a low, hushed voice. “I can leave. I won’t take offence.” 

Steve waved his hand dismissively at his best friend, relaxing back into the sofa’s pillows. 

“Alright.” Bucky replied, mimicking Steve’s actions to ease himself into the recliner’s back. A mischievous smile played his lips as he crossed his ankles, eyeing Steve with the intent of brightening the disposition. “You _sure_ it was just work—nothing more, nothing less?” he joked with a wink. His best friend responded with a halfheartedly stern look, extending his leg to reach across and kick Bucky in the shin. “ _Shit_ , okay. I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Bucky murmured. 

“C’mon, look at her with some respect.” Steve muttered, halfheartedly chastising. “She’s not like that. In fact, _she’s_ researching _you_ , so I suggest you treat her with the same respect you would any other professional, especially since she’ll soon have so much dirt on you.” 

Bucky chuckled, feigning hurt. “Oh, _dirt_ on me?” he said. “No such thing. I’m all clean, baby.”

Behind Steve, the girl presented three plates that she’d managed to find from Steve’s kitchen cabinets. “Did I just hear you call Steve _baby?_ Here.” she asked, smiling, handing out a ceramic baby blue plate to each of them. “I should add to your file that your relationship exceeds friendship.”

As she returned to her place on the couch, already fishing her hand into the paper bag to retrieve a warm bagel for each of them, Bucky eyed her. “Is being gay a _joke_ to you?” he asked jokingly. “Is it such a surprise that a decorated soldier could have such sensitivity to openness and fluidity that he’s able to call his best friend ‘baby?’” The three of them commenced in handling the bagels, each of them splitting the sesame and everything bagels down the already cut centre. 

“Maybe it is.” the girl quipped back. “Maybe I associate male soldiers with hyper-masculinity.” 

Bucky hummed at that, ripping off a piece of the bagel on his plate to pop in his mouth. “Yeah, well, Steve _is_ a baby—hey, do you have any butter or cream cheese, also?” he replied, distracted by the warm and tasty yet plainly dry bagel he was chewing. Steve nodded in response, rising from his place to head to the fridge. Bucky continued, just the two of them. “You know, and I don’t know if Steve ever told you this, but when we were kids, I always had to defend his ass. Kid couldn’t ever save himself.” he said.

“Hey—!” Steve called from where he stood in front of the open, lit-up fridge. “There’s a difference between being a pacifist and not being able to defend yourself.” he spoke, seeking the butter and cream cheese amongst the filled shelves of food and condiments

Bucky shrugged, gesturing to Steve. “See? Still sensitive about it.” he said passively.

Steve returned, butter and cream cheese as well as two butter knives in hand. The girl eyed him as he neared, her hand in the paper bag looking for a slice of the chocolate chip bread Bucky had mentioned. “Is that true?” she asked Steve, withdrawing her wrist that was holding a piece of babka. 

Next to her, Steve nodded, in the midst of removing the lid off of the cream cheese container to start spreading over his bagel. “Yeah.” he answered simply. “Bucky’s saved my ass in grade school more times than I could count. I was sort of a late bloomer and kids were assholes, y’know?” 

The girl processed the information, popping a small portion of chocolate bread into her mouth and relaxing back into the side of the couch, facing Steve. She propped her legs up on the couch, extending them such that her toes were just barely touching the bottom of Steve’s left thigh. “Where’d the nickname Bucky come from?” she wondered, holding a polite hand over her mouth as she chewed. “Is it a childhood thing?”

Bucky was the one to answer that, shaking his head. “No,” he started. “My middle name’s Buchanan, so my parents always called me Bucky—I think it was the nickname of one of my grandfathers, or something, I don’t know. It just stuck to close friends and family members.”

The three of them continued on their breakfast of bagels, chocolate chip bread, and coffee, amusing themselves with silly stories of Steve getting beaten up in middle school and Bucky’s womanizing history as a thirteen-year-old. As the morning progressed, Bucky would occasionally remind himself of how worse he felt about initially haven mentally accused the two of sleeping together.

Yet, whenever a momentary flare-up of guilt would arise, it would quickly be blotted away by a whip-fast quip from the girl, causing both him and Steve to forget whatever they were occupied on and laugh.

He was definitely starting to see what Steve admired so much about her. Whatever he said before about it being difficult to get to know her felt wrong to Bucky whenever she would warmly giggle at one of his jokes or ask anymore questions about their joint youth. 

Any vague awareness of her being responsible for conducting research on his mental state was promptly swept away once he felt how _normal_ it was to be in good company, especially when one of which was his best friend, and there was seldom a moment of silence. 

Bucky had almost forgot how nice it was to do absolutely _nothing_ , just sit around with decent people and talk about whatever good memories came to mind. While the girl was young, the age discrepancy between the three of them dissipated once her prose and knack for the same dry humor Bucky liked became evident.

She was easygoing, _cool_ , even, and was one of the few women Bucky had met that had the same composition as one of his buddies despite not even really knowing her well.

Once the coffees were drained and their stomachs were full, Steve saw himself to the kitchenette sink to clean up and wash their dirtied plates, leaving just Bucky and the girl alone in the living area. Her cheeks still glowed from how much she’d laughed in the past hour and a half, the little laugh lines around her mouth having become clear. 

Across from her, Bucky sat with his legs outstretched long in front of him, his Yankees cap turned backwards, hands clasped over his full stomach.

“You know,” the girl said, quiet enough such that the sound of the running sink behind her could hide whatever she said. “You’re different around Steve.” 

Bucky cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah?” he prompted.

The girl nodded, leaning her elbow on the back of the couch and cradling her jaw in her open palm. “Yeah.” she echoed. “It’s nice to see. You were a bit cold when I first spoke to you about interviewing you.”

“Well,” Bucky began. “I was cold because I didn’t want you psychoanalyzing whatever problems you probably projected I would have. Plus, when we met for coffee, I was recalling my time in the military, which isn’t really a laughing matter.”

“No, I know, you’re right.” the girl responded, nodding. “But a lot of veterans find that their personalities have fundamentally changed when they get back—sorry, I know you probably don’t want to hear anything about that now.”

Bucky chuckled dryly. “That mean there’s something wrong with me?” he joked.

The girl blinked, her expression melting into a smile. “Not at all.” she said. “You’re funny.”

“I’m a funny guy. No war could take that part away from me.”

“I should hope not,” the girl replied. “because I’m fond of this James. I want to see more of him.”

Bucky realized that he maybe wouldn’t mind seeing more of her either.


	5. wish you were here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky has an idea to invite the girl over to his place for their next meeting

_“T_ here any specific reason why you wanted to have this week’s meeting here?”

Standing in front of him in his doorway, wrapped up in a navy blue work jacket and heavy bright turquoise scarf, stood the student. Underneath her magenta knit beanie, small pieces of hair were untucked from her low ponytail, framing her frost-heated cheeks. She toed the solid doorframe with her boot patiently, awaiting for a response. 

Bucky almost couldn’t believe it, didn’t feel real to him, that the girl was actually _here_ and standing right in front of his home waiting to be invited inside. 

He’d just spent the previous hour deep cleaning his apartment to the best of his ability, emptying trash cans, wiping down tabletops, and making his bed. His place was already small as is, and he had developed a biting anxiousness that chewed at him from the moment the girl had confirmed that she would come to his apartment after her class had ended. 

He wasn’t exactly sure why; she wasn’t particularly somebody he felt a desire to impress so much as he was simply anxious at the thought of someone new becoming acquainted with his apartment for the first time. 

The only people he had over since he moved in was Steve and the neighbour he occasionally slept with—entertaining guests wasn’t especially his forte. 

Bucky nodded in answer to her initial question, opening his door wider to allow for enough space for her to enter through the skinny landing. “Yeah, actually.” he said as she ducked under his outstretched arm that was leaning on the edge of the door to slip past him. “I haven’t unpacked much since I first moved in, there’s still a ‘helluva lot of stuff to find a spot for.” He shut the door behind her, turning to her.

The girl turned on her heel smoothly, spinning around to face him to show her playfully confused expression. “You asked me to come over to help you unpack?” she clarified. “Aren’t there people you can hire for that?” Bucky gestured to her as she spoke and, upon silent request, she began unravelling her scarf from around her neck. 

“Sure,” he said, taking her scarf from her once it was removed to hang up on the iron coat hanger by the door. “but trust me, it’ll be more helpful if I do it with you. I have a lot of photos stored away somewhere in boxes, ones that were taken both when I was deployed and when I was a kid. I figured it’d be good for you to see them and for me to explain with each one we find.” 

Her jacket came next, unzipping the front to reveal a simple cream turtleneck, and then her boots. She hummed in response. “Okay, I see where you’re headed now.” she said, hanging up her jacket herself on the rack and nudging her boots aside with her sock-clad feet. 

She chose to leave her fuchsia beanie on, holding both hands on her hips expectingly as she waited for Bucky to lead her through the rest of his place. “I don’t typically make house calls for the other members of the group, but this is an exception.” she continued.

Bucky stepped past her, leading her down the narrow hallway into the open common area of his apartment. “An exception, huh?” he asked. “What makes you want to do that?” 

She followed him through his living area, where she noted a couple different chairs and an old-looking couch facing one another in front of a small television. A couple feet away, a kitchen, complete with a faux marble island that took up more space than necessary. 

Already she noticed his place was strangely undecorated; unlike Steve’s, which had hanging art and plants, Bucky’s lacked any personal items. “Well, I don’t typically have coffee and bagels at my advisor’s place with any of the other group members, either.” she replied shyly. 

Unlike she thought, Bucky brought her through his living room and down the hall, towards where she assumed his bedroom was. Two white doors were at the end of the short hallway facing one another, both ajar. 

One of them she knew to definitely be the bathroom indicated by the glimpse of white tile she saw through the crack, and the other, the one whose door was more open, was his bedroom like she rightfully predicted. 

Just beyond, as she saw when Bucky placed a flat palm on the door to push it apart wider, was a bedroom deceivingly bigger than what would be expected given the size of the rest of his apartment. An oak-postered bed, fitted with neatly made white sheets, right beside a large window that faced the rest of the city. Against the wall opposite to the bed was a simple dresser, cardboard boxes atop it. 

She took the first impression as a chance to search for anything instinctively _Bucky_ about it—anything, whether it be a cassette player or stack of novels. The only thing she found that _wasn’t_ a basic necessity to a bedroom was an opened pack of Parliaments sitting on his bedside table next to a rounded grey lamp.

Absentmindedly, she wandered inside his bedroom, gazing up and down the bare walls as she trailed over to his dresser. With a light touch, she traced a fingertip along the lined edges of the cardboard boxes, each marked with different things.

Curiously, she folded open one of the boxes, peering inside to be met with a mess of vinyl records and handmade pots. “Oh, here’s a start.” she said airily.

Carefully, she cupped one of the pots in her hands, a smaller one, resined with gorgeous shellac, depicting some sort of vibrant abstract scene that she didn’t quite understand. She held it in her hands, pivoting around to examine the entire scene. “Where’d you get this from?” she asked. “It’s beautiful.”

Bucky came up behind her, the fabric of his fleece sweater just barely grazing her shoulder, and touched the pot himself. “My mom made it, actually.” he answered. “Y’know, just a hobby she picked up as she got older, to find something productive to do once she quit work. She gave me a couple to put around my apartment.” 

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, gauging her dreamy reaction.

“Where do you want them?” the girl asked, turning her head to face him with a bright expression.

Bucky shrugged in reply, taking the pot for himself and setting it down on the dresser. “That one, the kitchen, probably.” he said. “For the vinyls, I have a plastic milk crate I picked up from the grocer down the street. If you wouldn’t mind, we could start there—the crate’s on the other side of the dresser.”

The girl bent down on one side, picking up the light blue plastic crate she failed to notice and placing it atop the foot of his bed. “Where’s your record player?” she wondered, sidestepping by him to take a seat on the edge of his bed beside the crate. Bucky took ahold of the cardboard box, turning around to place it on her lap.

“Don’t have one yet.” he said. “The one I had in junior high is too busted up and the only ones I’ve seen were ridiculously overpriced. I just have a cassette player in the living room currently.”

The girl hummed, setting the cardboard box on the other side as she unpacked a relatively thick stack of records onto her flattened thighs. “Could you put on some music that we can start unpacking to?” she requested distantly, already occupied with the sight of the first album she looked at. 

She started flicking through each one, admiring the artwork of each individual one as well as silently praising Bucky’s music taste; dozens of records by The Smiths, The Foo Fighters, Van Morrison, and more sat right in front of her to occupy herself with.

Wordlessly, Bucky withdrew his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, unlocking it to access his Spotify account. Upon randomly shuffling his library, Pink Floyd’s _Wish You Were Here_ began playing, albeit quietly. Bucky was quick to up the volume on the side of his phone, adjusting it to an appropriate level before setting his phone aside on the dresser. 

“Good song.” the girl said quietly, looking up at the muscles in Bucky’s back visible through his top as he got to work on opening up the second cardboard box. “You ever see their movie?”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder before returning to his exploration of the other box. “The Wall? ‘Course.” he answered, hands delving through a heap of personal care items within. “I listened to Pink Floyd a lot in high school. They make music for the human experience, I think.” 

“The human experience?” the girl prompted.

She watched the back of his head bob. “Yeah, the human experience: war, interpersonal relationships, love, family, unjust society, hurt, joy. Everybody can relate to at least _one_ song.” he said, withdrawing some cologne, a hairbrush, and a few political magazines from the box to lay them out.

The girl nodded, not that Bucky could see it. “Did you still listen to a music while deployed?”

“When I had time, which was pretty rare.” he answered. “Now that I’ve been off, I’ve been listening to way more than I ever have before. Reading a lot more as well, though I managed to do a fair bit of that even when I was out East. Listen—I’m ‘kinda getting bored of unpacking already.” he said, spinning around to lean back against the edge of the dresser.

The girl looked at him with a half smile. “James, we _just_ started.” she protested.

Bucky rolled his eyes and stepped closer to her, standing just in front of her bent knees, looking down at her. 

“Oh, come on,” he said. “don’t be a drag. I _just_ unpacked some of my stuff. Take a little break to just enjoy the music; wasn’t my fault such a good song had to come on first.” he said dramatically, holding his open hands out to her.

“What—” the girl began, setting the records aside hesitantly before taking his hands. He whisked her up, helping her stand to her full shorter stature, before gently pulling on one of her hands, raising it above him and spinning her around once. “are you _doing?_ We’ll _never_ get finished at this rate!” she cried, giggling from being spun as he ended the twirl, drawing her to stand in front of him.

He gripped her one hand properly and then placed his other on the dip in her waist, over the soft material of her shirt. “We’re dancing.” he said, smiling as well. She closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly as he lead them into a slow sway, putting her hand on the top of his spine, her forearm resting on the broad expanse between his neck and shoulder.

He was warm to the touch, making it all the more brutally cozy, especially in addition to his fleece sweater, and the golden sunlight was streaming in from the big window in such a way that made his short brown hair catch the light. “Seriously. Not a long song.” he added.

She sighed gently, thumb absentmindedly tracing circles over his shoulder as he continued the swaying movement he’d started. With every step, the backs of her shins would bump into the edge of his bed, but she barely noticed. 

All she could focus on was how pretty of a color his irises were every time it would catch the afternoon sunlight and how hard his body was against hers. 

Bashfully, she looked down to her feet, moving in lazy synchronization with his.

“Does it feel weird dancing with one of the guys you’re doing a project on?”

The girl looked up at him, met his gaze. “Not if you don’t _make_ it weird.” she quipped, recognizing the sensation of his fingers mimicking her thumb’s actions, drawing lazy, calming swirls over her turtleneck. “Speaking of, didn’t I come here to have you talk to me about your experiences?”

Bucky hummed. “Ah, yes.” he said, feigning playful cluelessness.“Ask me anything.”

Her thumb had trailed to the bottom of his bare neck without realizing it, now cupping the tender junction of his shoulder. “Be honest with me. _Truly_ honest.” she said seriously after a moment of thinking.“How is it that you’re so… _different?_ Different than all the other guys I’ve interviewed?” she asked.

“What, better looking, you mean?” Bucky joked, lips pursing as he faked reflection.

She gently squeezed where her hand was on him, shaking her head more reverently than before. “I’m being _serious_ , James.” she said, trying to hide the subtle smile hinting at her lips, amused at his reaction. “Please, don’t make jokes. Be honest.” she added, diverting back to the subject at hand.

Bucky pinched her waist back, making her squeak and jerk forwards into him, her chest bumping his before she settled back to where she stood before, a small gap between them. “I _am_ being honest. It’s not my fault you didn’t do a very good job at being precise with the question.” he argued.

The girl took a breath. “I mean,” she started. “how are you so unaffected by everything you’ve seen, everything you’ve _done?_ If I didn’t know, I would’ve just thought you’re a regular guy like anyone else. You said you’ve been dealing with it all well, with no physical or psychological effects, but I don’t get it. I don’t understand how you can have gone through what you did and come out unscathed.” 

Unexpectedly, he outstretched his arms and took her other hand, simultaneously stepping away from her. Her arms lengthened in response as he closed the gap between their elbows such that their bonded hands formed one stretch, and then quickly drew her back into how they were before. “Would your rather me be a coarse, damaged soul?” he asked.

“No,” the girl answered slowly. “because I like you just how you are right now.”

“So do I.” Bucky said. “That’s why I intend on _staying_ this way. I told you, I’ve experienced everything else that they have in the same commodity—guilt, trauma, pain. It’s impacted me, of course, to a certain degree, but I’m still me. I’m still Bucky.” he explained.

The girl sighed, looking at him tenderly. “ _God_ , you’re going to be a hard outlier to acknowledge.”

His hand on her waist travelled up to the small of her back, palming her, drawing her in a little closer. Due to the new proximity, their heads hovered next to each other, his beard lightly scratching her cheek with each sway. He tilted his head to look at her diagonally, how her eyelashes fluttered and how she chewed mindlessly at her lower lip. 

At the thought of a potential joke coming into his head, he grinned at her. “So, you think I’m _different?_ ” he teased. “A _good_ different or a bad different?”

She frowned at his cockiness but smiled, turning her head slightly to look at him, their noses only a tiny space away from one another. “Don’t flatter yourself…” she said, trailing off. “But, good different.”

“I see.” he replied. “Well, you’ll be elated to know that you’re a _good_ different, too.”

He couldn’t help it; their noses bumped into one another when his head jerked up slightly at her reaction, feeling the warmth of her each exhale fanning down on his chin. Bucky had never felt so _close,_ so _intimate_ , with somebody before, not even through sex, and it was sending chills down his spine. 

Holding her, having her physically close to him, felt right in ways that Bucky had never even known existed within the realm of possibility, and he wasn’t ready to let her go, despite the song having ended a couple moments prior.

Without thinking, he unclasped his hand from hers, instead forming it over her petite chin. Carefully, he steadied her to face him full-on, their swaying movements halting entirely. “I know I probably shouldn’t,” he began, his voice low and slightly unsteady. “but I really want to kiss you.”

“James…” the girl responded meekly, helplessly, warily looking down at where he held her chin. “We can’t. It would be bad on _so_ many levels.” she warned him under her breath.

He wasn’t sure if it was simply _being_ there with someone, dancing so closely with such a pretty girl, that was exciting his heart so much or whether it was because in that moment, he realized he’d wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her in her neon orange beanie. 

R egardless, the magnetic draw to her in that moment was indescribable, his want to touch her further, unravel her, open her up for him, was beyond fathomable words. Simply dancing with her blew any night shared with his flirty neighbour out of the water.

“Why?” Bucky asked quietly, outstretching hand on her chin to span a finger over her jaw, skimming over the smooth planes of her skin. “Because we’re supposed to keep it professional?”

She shut her eyes, shaking her head in his hold. Bucky watched as her eyelids blinked open after a second and looked up towards the ceiling, looking for something— _anything_ —to help her convince him. “Yes, but _not_ just because of that alone.” she said. “There’s more to it. I—I can’t get into it now. _Please_ , James.”

Ignoring her gentle pleas, he began the descent of slowly dipping his head down lower, angling his mouth towards hers. Right as his lips brushed hers, the excitement getting the better of him as he prepared to eagerly unite them together, she jerked away from him, escaping his hold on her chin.

Stunned, he watched as she disentangled herself from him and moved back towards the bed.

“I said we can’t, Bucky.” she stated shakily, wiping her sweaty palms on her cargo pants. “ _Please._ That—that was intense, okay, but I came here to help you unpack and learn more about you. Don’t make me want to leave. I _care_ about you, alright? Don’t push me away by doing that.” she said.

Bucky placed the pad of his thumb on the centre of his bottom lip, right where hers had just grazed him, and looked to the ground. The ice cold feeling of shame washed over him abruptly, spreading down to his toes and where he was touching his lip. 

He dropped his hand by his side and then refocused on her, where she stood away from him. “You’re right. I know.” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “ _Fuck_ , I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to do that, I—I was just caught up in the heat of the moment.”

The girl waited a minute, Bucky hanging onto her every move in fear of her leaving, before sitting herself down on his bed. She put the stack of records back on her lap. “Let’s…” she started uneasily. “Let’s just get back to unpacking, okay? We can pretend like it never happened.”

With a silent nod, Bucky was suddenly thankful for his still playing music to fill the quiet, awkward void between them. “Okay. Thank you.” he said quietly, turning back towards the dresser to hide his face away from her. 

Unsteadily, he reached out to grip the dresser’s edge to stabilize himself as he stared down at the scattered objects he’d removed from the moving box.

It was then it hit him that she had called him Bucky for the first time.


	6. sit back and be cared for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in an attempt to make up for his mistake, bucky bites off more than he can chew in a group meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: descriptions of experience in war and death of a young person. thank you for all the support so far.

_D_ eeply set lines in a palm were read like a map, danced over with a featherlight touch. Steve Rogers cradled the underside’s knuckles with his expansive palm, not failing to notice how the hand’s naked exposure to the windchill prompted little goosebumps to pucker atop the skin. 

“Look’it here,” Steve grinned, gesturing to the crease that ran down between the thumb and forefinger with a tap. “ _That’s_ your life line. You have _two_ , see? That thicker one and the smaller, crescent-shaped one beside it? That means extremely high liveliness. You have strong _physical_ health as well as _emotional_ health.” he explained, gaging the reaction of the hand’s owner beside him, who he walked adjacent to.

The girl beside him burst into a fit of giggles, tossing her head back and pinching her eyes closed in bashfulness. “That _tickled_ more than anything.” she argued as his rigid grip relaxed, instead flattening his palm against hers and loosely interweaving their fingers.

Encouragingly, Steve gave her hand a squeeze, leaning into her to nuzzle her wind-cooled hair as they walked. “Mm, so it means you’ll have a very tickle-filled life then, too.” he decidedly said after playfully feigning a puzzled expression. “That is, if my reading’s _correct._ Should we check?” 

With that, he released their interlinked hands to wrap an arm around her back, bringing her into him. Her back hit him softly as she bent over slightly in protest, his hands already searching her waist through her coat to find a good spot to dig his fingers into.

“Steve, _c’mon,_ we’re going to be late!” she said out through laughter. “We don’t have time—”

Before she could finish, Steve already had pressed a couple glove-covered fingers into one of the many tender spots in her silhouette, prompting her to shrilly cry out and grow stiff against him, arching her back away from him.

“Ah, yes,” he said, putting on his best impression of an intellectual. “It seems my reading _was_ correct!” He pinched her sides once more, tightening his hold on her to limit her squirming against him as the soles of her boots began sliding in the slush below them.

Finally, after deciding she’d had enough as judged from her airy, tired laughter, he lessened his arm’s hold and unwound her, freeing her, but not quite enough to fully remove herself. As she reached for his hand again to hold from around her back, he skimmed his hand up to her shoulders to pull her closer yet again, just to plant an affectionate kiss on her temple, his facial hair scratching her. 

“Where’d you even learn how to palm read, anyways?” she grumbled. 

Steve released her, taking ahold of her hand as they returned to their regular walking, her shoulder occasionally bumping into his bicep. He guided her around an especially wide puddle of icy slush in their way by winding his arm outwards, then lead her back to him. “I don’t.” Steve answered shortly, relishing in her confused expression.

“Huh—?” the girl mumbled, frowning. “Who would’ve thought? That seemed like a pretty professional reading to me. Well, now I know not to trust anyone who tells me I have ‘extremely high liveliness.’” she continued as they turned off the corner of Houston Street, dodging incoming traffic as they darted across the street.

Steve looked at her and grinned. “Hey, I’m not wrong about _that_.” he protested. “I’m good at detecting liveliness and that’s _for sure_ one of your more favourable qualities.” 

They were nearing their destination, the university building that held the group therapy meetings every Wednesday evening, something Steve was acutely aware of. The girl hummed beside him as they began slowing their steps, approaching the building. “Please don’t tell me my _liveliness_ is the only reason you like me.” she moaned sarcastically, rearing to a stop to lead him to stand in front of her.

Hands still linked, Steve stilled, facing her, then leaned down. He ducked down further, pausing just in front of her so that he could release their holding hands to instead cup her face. “Amongst other things.” he said quietly. 

He placed a kiss to her forehead: “I like your _mind_ , your intellect.” 

Next was her lower cheek: “Your _smile,_ the little creases you get there when you laugh.” 

A kiss to the column of throat, making her snicker: “Your _voice_ , how you use it with the things you say.” 

Lastly, a long, sweet kiss on her lips. He pulled away just a little, hands still cupping her jaw. “You’re not so bad of a kisser, either.” he finished.

With a long groan of exasperation, the girl swatted his shoulder as he stepped away.

Steve looked at her more seriously this time, readjusting his peacoat as to fix any rumples or unkemptness. “Alright, how do I look?” he asked her, straightening his posture to try present himself as best as possible. “ _Not_ like you just made me walk thirteen blocks in the snow instead of driving?”

“I was doing you a _favor!_ ” the girl spoke. “Parking’s a bitch around here.”

“Still no comment on how dashing I look.”

With a roll of her eyes, the girl placed her hands on his chest, seemingly fixing something that wasn’t out of place on his scarf. “You look handsome as always.” she promised. “Not _at all_ like your hair is nearly soaked from the snow or that there are salt stains on your boots.” 

Steve hummed, pretending not to notice the joke. “Excellent, just how I like it.” he said decidedly. “Let’s get to it, then.” As she took a step in his direction to walk past him, about to enter the university’s building, he abruptly snatched her wrist and followed her. “Just _one_ more kiss before we go inside…” he insisted, coming up from behind her to lower his head over her shoulder.

Her face tilted, mouth in a bright smile, to meet his. With his free hand, he moved his arm around the side of the neck to angle her properly and secure her as he slotted his lips over hers, his fingers sheathing themselves in her loose hair. 

She loved how their mouths fit, two pieces locked together as one in a unity that was tooth-achingly sweet every time he did it. The bristles of his beard brushed against her as they kissed; she could feel the material of his leather gloves against her scalp as he held her.

It was over all too soon.

She was the one who broke it, pulling away from him just enough so she could look at him through her eyelashes. “Time to go, big guy.” she whispered. “You’ve got a group to lead.”

Steve felt his heart strum at that. Wordlessly, he let her go, reluctantly detaching himself from her completely. They walked side-by-side each other as they entered the university’s building—with him ever the gentleman opening the door for her—brushing past students who were there late studying or grabbing a cup of coffee at the college’s cafe on the first floor. 

As he followed shortly behind her down the staircase to the basement, he resisted the urge to put his hand on the small of her back or shoulder, to stake some claim of possessive affection on her, but it wasn’t the time nor place.

The girl, meanwhile, had to take a deep breath to compose herself before the group meeting.

Being with Steve, by his side, felt too good to be true; always had, ever since the first time he kissed her after driving her home after one of the Wednesday meetings. They got together only a couple months after initially meeting at the start of first semester, when she hadn’t even first applied for the position she would have soon filled, at the psychology department’s fair for different volunteer organizations. 

She had immediately seen that he was pure and good, endlessly more than anything she felt like she deserved, and couldn’t resist the draw to him.

Apparently, neither could he.

She wasn’t sure how she even landed him, a guy that looked like a long lost Eastwood, a classic American beauty, with all the charms that such a role demanded with a surplus of sensitivity. He was like a flawless dream, one that treated their so far secret affair with respect and gentleness that would be expected from a couple in permanent honeymoon. 

While she wasn’t _quite_ sure what exactly they were, whether he would consider her late nights at his place watching SNL dates or not, or whether to him it was more of a fling, nevertheless, the time they spent together was indescribable. The girl was distantly aware that it wasn’t right, at least not as long as she worked as his student volunteer, but it felt like the most appropriate thing in the world.

The morning his best friend had walked in on them right after she’d slept over at his place was the only bump they’d had in their relationship so far. Afterwards, when Bucky left and it was just her and Steve at his apartment, he was so anxious and upset that it took multiple hours of combing his hair with her fingernails and kissing his face to calm him down, assure him that Bucky had believed his story; she was sure about that.

What she wasn’t so sure about was what to do with what happened at Bucky’s place a week prior.

Swaying with him in his bedroom, bathing in the golden afternoon sunlight as they listened to a dreamy Pink Floyd song. Him spinning her, twirling her, making her laugh, and then finally, trying to kiss her when he was clueless to her being in a relationship with his closest friend.

Part of the reason why she believed so strongly that Steve was too good for her because she was grappling with the thought that in that moment, she was so close to kissing him back.

She wasn’t sure why, especially when she had Steve, who was leagues beyond perfectly good, sitting right in her palm, but she not only nearly _let_ him kiss her, and very much wanted it. It was _him_ , how warm and hard his body felt against her as they danced, how pretty his steel blue eyes looked when it caught the sunlight, how exciting it felt to be in his presence. 

It was a mistake; they both had agreed upon that. A silly, dumb mistake that arose in the heat of the moment.

A mistake that she gawked at whenever considering how Steve would feel if he found out.

She hadn’t mentioned it to him, desperately clinging onto the hope that Bucky, hopefully equally as embarrassed, hadn’t either. She believed it was best if they just forgot about it, let it slip away and continue their lives on like it had never even happened. That possibility gave her some peace of mind.

Smoothing over her rustled hair, disheveled from Steve’s gloved fingertips angling her head, she followed behind him into the basement classroom she was so familiar with, the distinctive scent of stale coffee and dust hitting her before she even walked inside. 

Her cheeks still felt hot from blushing so hard after their passionate last kiss before entering, stomach still doing flips as she began to unzip her jacket upon entering the room.

She followed Steve’s lead in greeting anyone who said hello as they brushed by, walking straight to the centre of the room where the desks were arranged in their usual circle. Steve began removing his outer layers, subtly glancing over his shoulder at her to check up on her, already having removed his gloves and scarf to hang over the back of the chair.

She caught his eye, biting on the inner corner of her lip to stop her face from brightening in reaction.

Steve sat down before she did, elbows planted on the desk and hands clasped together as he surveyed the incoming men about to take their seats in the circle. His eyes landed on one particular man, who was approaching to sit in the same spot as he did last time.

Distantly, she heard Steve greet the guy.

“Bucky!” he said, voice audibly exposing his surprise at his friend’s appearance. “You decided to join us again?” he asked, dumbfounded. 

The girl spun around instantly, needing to see it with her own, suddenly nervous eyes. 

There Bucky sat, boot-clad ankles crossed, legs outstretched, hunched over the desk.

His pale blue eyes darted to hers immediately, offering a meek, comforting half-smile. He had trimmed his beard a fair bit since she’d last seen him, with just short, ash brown stubble remaining. She could tell from the dark shadows beneath his eyes that he had been losing sleep recently, but otherwise, he looked good, maybe a little out of his comfort zone, if anything.

Her heart fluttered at the sight of him, but she had to hide it, had to pretend like nothing was awry, just slinking into her seat beside Steve. “Yeah, I did.” Bucky answered, shifting in his chair. “I—uh, figured I might have something of value to add to the discussion today. Figured I should be _honest_ for the first time _._ ” His gaze flickered to meet hers, blinking slowly upon emphasizing the last, crucial word. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Steve turning to look at her. Instead of a puzzled expression like the girl was expecting, afraid that the cogs in Steve’s mind were suddenly turning, piecing the puzzle together, she was met with an expression of delight. 

“That’s great, Buck!” Steve replied earnestly. “I’m glad you came this evening. Would you like to start off the discussion with anything in particular you’d like to tell us?” The other veterans in the circle all looked to Bucky expectingly.

“Oh,” Bucky began, visibly a little uncomfortable with being so vulnerable. “sure. Well—alright…let me start off by saying that I’ve had nightmares, ever since I was a little kid. When I was younger, it was little stuff, night terrors of getting in a car crash while drunk driving with friends or having my girlfriend at the time get attacked and all I could do was watch.” he stated. 

“It wasn’t until I came back that…that the nightmares started to _transform,_ turn into horrible memories I’ve been trying to forget. The—the other night, I had one that was an exact reenactment of one time while I was out East. For the first time, my nightmares weren’t fictitious, but fragments of stuff I’ve experienced first hand It was so…so _real._ It was like I was back, out deployed. I woke up in a cold sweat and couldn’t get to sleep for the rest of the night.” he continued.

For the first time since she had met him, the girl saw what it was like for Bucky to open himself, his cocky, humorous confidence suddenly gone and only a quiet, anxious man left behind. 

It was unsettling to no end; in one way she wanted the Bucky she was familiar with to come back, the Bucky that playfully spun her around his apartment and cracked semi-childish jokes, but on the other hand, the tenderness he was reluctantly displaying was crucial to her, especially for the topic she was researching.

The girl hated how uneasy he looked opening himself up so deeply, something he hadn’t even told her about in private. He evaded her serious questions in their interviews, but chose to dissect himself, unsheathe his entirely raw and bare self, in front of a crowd. 

Yet, she found comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone, as indicated by the several other men around him nodding and lowering their heads in empathy. While Bucky’s disposition was still stiff, he noticeably relaxed slightly upon seeing reactions.

Steve hummed beside her, eyebrows pulled together as he adjusted himself to lean further on his desk. “I think almost everybody here can relate to those experiences.” he said. “Do you feel comfortable sharing the details of the dream to us?”

Bucky swallowed, eyes shifting around the room before settling on the girl again, her plea for his honesty repeating in his head. “Yes.” he answered after a minute, running a hand over his outgrown buzzcut. “It was a couple months into my first deployment, in Iraq. Another guy in my company and I were atop the rooftop of an abandoned residential building in a smaller town a couple dozen miles East of Syria."

He drew a deep breath before continuing. "We—we were scouting out the streets down below to escort a team in, check for any civilian life, when out of nowhere, a man rounded the corner of one of the buildings and took one of my friends down below by surprise."

Eyes darting around the room, his shoulders hunched as he went on. "I took him down quickly; it wasn’t my _first_ kill, but, shortly after, his…his teenage _son_ came out of a nearby home and ran over to his father. I—I didn’t _think_ , I just took the shot before he even reached him. It came so naturally to me that I hadn’t even realized he was _a kid,_ no older than me. I was—what, _nineteen?_ Twenty, maybe?” 

The room was completely silent. Bucky cleared his throat. “I knew immediately I had fucked up, made a mistake by shooting somebody before they had even _attacked_ us _._ ” he spoke carefully, gaze fixated on his hands resting atop the desk. “But everyone in my company assured me that it was _alright_ , that he was likely reaching to take his dad’s gun to try and avenge him. I’m not so sure I believe that."

The girl watched his every move diligently. "I just…couldn’t help but think about how I had killed somebody my own age, a kid that could’ve been in _university_ or been my _friend_ given he was born in a different place. I acted fine, but it stuck with me longer than I’d like to admit. I thought by now I had forgotten it, but I guess it hasn’t.” he finished quietly.

After a couple beats of deafening silence, Bucky abruptly stood up, shakily leaning a hand on the back of his chair. “I’m sorry, I—” he sputtered, pinching his eyes shut. “I’m just going to get some water.”

He brushed past the desk beside him, quick to round the circle of attendees to dart right past the refreshments table, where a couple of water pitchers sat, to slam his hands on the classroom’s shut doors and duck out. Each member of the group watched his exit, but only one moved after a few moments of dumbfounded shock. 

Without thinking, the girl rose to her feet and slipped out of the desk, trailing behind him as she slipped through the small opening of the doors swinging closed.

She gave no thought towards how silent the group she had left was or whether Steve would find it strange that she was the one to chase after his best friend and not him. The only thing she could focus on was following Bucky into the basement’s fluorescent-lit halls to make sure he was okay.

He was at the far end of the hallway when she got out of the classroom, already sitting on the bottom two stairs with his face buried in his folded arms rested atop his bent knees. “Bucky!” she called out in the midst of beginning her run down the hall to where he was huddled.

Bucky didn’t react to his name being called, not even when she was standing right in front of his knees, unsure of what to do. “Oh, _Bucky,_ ” she whispered, climbing one stair to slowly sink down into a seated position beside him. Delicately, she placed a gentle, comforting arm around his sunken shoulders, cupping her other hand over his hard shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry. _Please_ , talk me through what you’re thinking.” she coaxed softly, leaning in close to his hidden face.

To her surprise, he raised his hands, inhaling deeply, and scrubbed his open palms over his reddened face. “ _Fuck,_ I—” he began, voice wrecked. “I’ve never told anybody about that. _Nobody_ knew that except for me. I didn’t think it would be that hard, don’t _know_ why it was so difficult for me.” he admitted, clammy palms sliding past his face to reveal bloodshot eyes staring ahead of him.

She removed the hand from his shoulder, instead placing it on the side of his facing away from her to guide him into her. He allowed himself to be malleable, just for that one time, so she could draw him into her shoulder, hugging him to her. 

His wet nose nuzzled into her lower shoulder, just inside the seam between her inner bicep and chest, as she ran her other hand over his back soothingly.

“I thought I was doing fine.” he mumbled, voice muffled from her sweater.

The girl felt herself wilt against him, skimming her palms from the nape of his neck to his head, scratching his hair lightly in tiny circles. “You _are_ doing fine, Bucky.” she replied weakly as his arms came up to hook around her waist, holding her tighter against him like she was his only lifeline. 

She smoothed her hands over his cropped haircut. “Of course it’s going to be difficult for _anyone_ to talk about it…but you’re _strong,_ you’re _brave._ I’m so, so proud of you for doing that.” she said, instinctively lowering her head to rest her chin atop his head.

“I’m sorry.” he responded. “You told me to be honest. I don’t know why I’m acting like this.”

The girl shushed him, planting a soft kiss atop his hair soothingly. “You’re acting like this because you’re _good._ ” she assured him, her body molding against his as his arms flexed instinctually around her. “It’s okay not to be okay sometimes. To me, that doesn’t make me like you any less.”

She felt him lightly seize against her, the patch of sweater he was leaning against starting to feel damp. Promptly, she hugged him even tighter to him, kissed his cradled head once more without giving any thought to how inappropriate it was. “You weren’t responding to my calls…” he blubbered, mouth still pressed against her shoulder. “I thought I scared you away.” 

“No, _never._ ” she insisted quickly. “I’m sorry, Bucky, I—I didn’t know to act after what happened. I just needed some time to process things. You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“I know, but—” 

She cut him off, squeezing him tighter to her. “No debate about it.” she promptly said. “I would never want you to put yourself in an uncomfortable position just for my sake. I _care_ about you, Bucky.”

There they sat, his head cradled and face nestled into her chest, arms encasing her, in silence.

And surprisingly, Bucky began to feel his panic melt away with each kiss she laid upon his head.


	7. jailbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky takes our girl out to one of his favorite joints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! thank you so much for being patient with this update - school just started back up again and i've been busy. enjoy and thank you again for all the kind comments and support :)

_A_ creamy white thigh, littered with sporadic, fingerprint-sized plum-coloured bruises, twitches against him from where he sat on the edge of a bed. Absentmindedly, Bucky glanced over his naked shoulder for his eyes to land on the undressed silhouette of a woman laying beside him in her cream sheets, eyes still closed in sleep. 

She turned over almost as if she could feel him looking at her, head rolling atop a heap of auburn hair as she shifted to face the window, pale, curved back to him. 

Bucky sighed quietly, ran his hands over his thighs, then reached down below him to snag the pair of boxers he’d previously discarded to the floor. As silently as he could, he rose to his feet, slipping on his boxers as he watched the woman sleep, wondering if the stranger would be disappointed that he wouldn’t end up staying for breakfast like he’d promised when he was a couple whiskeys into his night.

His head throbbed as he grabbed his watch from the bedside table, clasping the heavy metal band over his wrist. The damage he’d done to the stranger, one who he had picked up while out drinking, was visible already; he felt a twang of guilt seeing the bites, the hickeys, the bruises dotted all over her body, and reminded himself to leave a five dollar bill on the way out so he could buy her a coffee the next morning as a way of apologizing. 

He couldn’t help it. He was still upset, still _furious_ , at the what had happened last Wednesday at the group meeting, how he opened himself up to be humiliated by his own accord in front of numerous strangers who tried to give him their pity. 

The stranger of the bar had no idea what she was walking up to when she bought him his next drink and gave him a flirty smile with her painted lips; he had zero intention of picking up any girls at the bar and was simply looking for a way to kill off the remaining embarrassment by himself. 

Yet, through the neckline of her black top, her pale, smooth skin would be so easy to mark up, to physically project his frustration on. Luckily for him, the stranger loved it, tried to even inflict some of her own pain onto him by scratching his back until he’d pinned her hands above her head and kept them there the rest of the night. 

He didn’t want a stranger’s touch roaming his body. He wanted to _know_ the hands, to recognize their lines and smoothness instinctively, to be loved and shaped and _adored_ by the hands. He wanted the girl’s hands on him like they were that same Wednesday night.

He wanted her soothing kisses atop his hair to be displaced instead onto his neck, his body. He wanted to feel the love and caring he felt when he was being comforted by her projected everywhere else beyond where she had initially touched. 

_She_ was the one he needed to blot out his humiliation and shame, not by means of rough sex like with the stranger but through strokes of his hair, kisses on his forehead, sweet nothings whispered in his ear assuring him that he was _okay._

Not that he wouldn’t protest some rough, passionate sex now and then.

Bucky had known long before he started redressing himself in the silent, shadow-cast strangers room that it was the girl he wanted. He knew from the moment she first answered his call at five thirty-two in the morning, to be precise, and the feelings of want that he desperately tried to smother out at first had only grown stronger with time. 

He seemed to not be able to get enough of her; her sleepy voice, the vibrant accessories she apparently liked wearing in winter that he found so adorable, her thoughtfulness towards others, the way she was fast as a whip when responding to his jokes, the feeling of her arms cradling his head as he cried into her.

To some degree he suspected that the feelings, or at least _some_ of them, were mutual.

He had already almost pushed her away several times, by being harsh when they first met to trying to kiss her in his bedroom, but she always seemed to return to him, murmuring caring, kind promises into his hair. 

Bucky noticed the way her eyes lit up whenever he was in the room in some form of excitement, felt the electric buzz between them as he swayed her across the floorboards of his apartment. There was something real and palpable between them that he had never felt before.

Upon quietly exiting the stranger’s bedroom and shrugging on the leather jacket he had left by the front door, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket, checking the time. It was only twelve thirty in the morning, the stranger and him having both arrived _and_ finished their escapade within the span of three hours. 

Instinctively, he opened his texts, ignoring recently delivered messages from his old friends from junior high and his parents checking in, to swipe straight up to the top, pressing directly on he and the girl’s conversation and starting to type.

_Hey. You awake?_

He shut off his phone with one hand and reached the other towards the front door’s brass knob. Leaning on the support from his grip, he toed his feet’s way into his boots, starting the cringe-inducing loud creaking of the twisting doorknob. Bucky felt the lock give under the turn as he held his breath, taking one last look over his shoulder for good measure into the darkened apartment before opening the door further and slipping outside.

By the time he had gently shut the door behind him, his phone had buzzed in his hand. He let out a sigh of relief at both the quick, somewhat unexpected response as well as managing to sneak out of the stranger’s apartment without waking her up. When he unlocked his phone again, a grey bubble was there.

_I am. For what reason may you be asking such a question?_

Bucky felt himself relax, a soft smile growing on his lips. He typed back almost _too_ quickly.

_Are you doing anything especially important?_ He tapped send.

Beginning his descent down the apartment complex’s stairs, he stared at his phone’s screen, the little grey typing cloud popping up sooner than he thought. 

_Studying. I’ve got an organic chemistry test tomorrow…again why are you asking?_

_Feeling like it’s a good time for a little study break?_ He responded.

His phone blinked. _What?? Are you serious? It’s half past midnight Bucky._

_Yes and? I don’t see a problem here._ He replied. _Text me your address and I’ll swing by._

By the time he’d reached the apartment’s lobby, zipping up his leather jacket to shield himself from the cold, his phone was already buzzing rapidly. The first text, to his delight, was her address, given to him immediately without thought. The following were questions of confusion, of wonder. 

He felt giddy knowing he had a plan to see her, his urge to see her feeling fulfilled and sated; moreover, he felt _warm_ , pleased at the fact that she had apparently grown to trust him so much that she would give him her apartment’s address. He chuckled to himself, wondering if she treated all her other subjects like that.

Luckily, he realized, her place wasn’t actually too far from his one night stand’s apartment—just a short cab ride away. He hailed one down as soon as he brushed his way out of the condominium and into the cool, ever busy streets of the city, finding his way into a more major intersection.

He chose to ignore her following texts in lieu of keeping his spur-of-the-moment midnight plans asurprise, feeling deep satisfaction knowing he had her in the palm of his hands. Tonight was the night he was going to take her out, treat her well beyond her wildest dreams, and lastly, seal the kiss that was stolen away from him during her first time at his apartment. 

Resting his head against the laminated, slightly worn leather seat of the cab, he leaned his forehead against the cool window and shut his eyes, a seemingly permanent smile of bewilderment on his lips. Frankly, he couldn’t believe he was going to _see_ her, at a time that was so blatantly obvious _wasn’t_ for research purposes, and that she was okay with it, _welcoming_ even. 

He spent the taxi ride anticipating what she would be wearing, what color neon beanie she would have crowning her beautiful hair, whether she would sound like how she did when he first called her because it was so late or whether she would be chipper, playful like she was over bagels at Steve’s place. Regardless, he was certain however which way she would present herself would be a version that Bucky would also like.

The past week—ever since she came to his rescue at the group therapy session after revealing a part of him that had never seen the light of day—she had consistently occupied his every thought. He _liked_ this girl, a _lot,_ and the feeling of enjoying a girl’s company in the way he did made him feel weightless and content even when she wasn’t around. 

Distantly, he wondered how Steve react if he knew that his best friend was going for his student volunteer. Knowing Steve, likely uncomfortable, maybe a little taken aback that Bucky had, for the first time in his life, desired monogamy as opposed to his usual array of hook-ups. 

How could Steve blame him, though—how could he have _not_ taken interest in her? She was beyond the realm of everything he knew; pure and good and above all, tentative and caring in ways he never felt. Her youthful beauty entertained a possessive part of Bucky that wanted to capture it, claim it for his own, and cherish it endlessly, but above all, it was _who she was_ as a person that bewitched him.

By the time the short taxi ride was nearing its end, turning onto her block in the significantly less nicer part of the student ghetto, Bucky could distantly spot the silhouette of a girl sitting on the stone steps leading up approximately to where her apartment was. He licked his lower lip, a habit of nerves, as the cab pulled over to the side of the street behind a parked produce truck. 

Rummaging through his pocket, he pulled out a twenty dollar bill, thrusting it up towards the plastic partition. “Here.” he said distantly, too focused on eagerly unbuckling his seatbelt to meet the girl.

“Sir,” the cab driver responded, eyeing Bucky in the rearview mirror. “Ride’s only sixteen-fifty.”

Bucky shifted over across the row of seats, reaching for the handle of the car door. “Keep the change.” he replied dismissively, pulling open the door to step outside into the grey slush. “Thanks.” 

After fully stepping out of the taxi and shutting the door behind him, the car already switching gears to leave, Bucky slipped his cold, dry hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, striding the short distance to close between he and the apartment. As he got closer, the silhouette of the woman he’d noticed earlier became clearer, instantly recognizing it as the girl sitting on the front steps, huddled from the cold.

She stood to her full height once he called her name to grab her attention, a good half foot taller than Bucky’s taller frame due to the pedestal of a cement stair. He slowed down in front of her, looking up at her with a smile purely from getting to see her beautiful, bare face. 

Bundled in a thick, cream-coloured sherpa coat, grey sweatpants, and black boots, with her hair knotted into a bun atop her head, she looked so cutely snug. Needing to touch her, Bucky extended an arm out to her, removing his hand from his pocket to hover it over the side of her knee.

“So,” she began, arms crossed in front of her university’s logo on her sweatshirt. “What’s the plan for the jailbreak, Bucky?” Her folded arms loosened, one of her mitten-covered hands reaching out to cup his elbow the padding of his leather jacket.

Bucky tapped her lower thigh with the hand beside her knee, encouraging her to climb down the stairs to his level. “Come here to my side and find out.” he replied, grinning up at her. The girl rolled her eyes, gripping his elbow harder to support her on her descent down the few couple stairs leading up to her apartment until she stood beside him, their height discrepancy reversed.

He turned back towards the direction he came, covering her mitt on his elbow with his own bare hand to keep it there as he bent his elbow, appearing as if he was escorting her somewhere. “You’re really not going to tell me?” she asked through a soft, curious smile.

Shaking his head response, Bucky cleared his throat before glancing back down to her. “Surprises aren’t surprises when you tell somebody, are they?” he responded brightly, curling his fingers over the hand of hers he held to give it a gentle, promising squeeze.

He then leaned into her, pulling her towards him using his grip on her mitt, to draw her closer, dipping his mouth near her ear. “I’ll give you a hint, though. You haven’t eaten anything recently, hopefully?” he whispered.

The girl giggled, squirming against the hot, humid air he was propelling against the shell of her ear. “ _No,_ but,” she answered coyly as he pulled away from her, walking adjacent to her while they strolled down the street. “don’t take me anywhere especially nice, please. I’m dressed like a bag lady.”

“I, as a matter of fact, _love_ what you’re wearing.” Bucky protested. “Very college chic.”

“More of pulling-an-all-nighter chic.” the girl grumbled.

Bucky clapped her hand with his palm and shrugged his shoulders. “Pulling an all-nighter? That’s synonymous with college, I thought?” he joked, making her chuckle and nod in agreement. “Either way, I like it—you look very cozy. Dressed the perfect amount of fanciness for where we’re going, I reckon.” 

The girl looked up at him, her mitten-clad hand still covered by his own bare one. “You’re not going to tell me at all where we’re going?” she asked, her irises glimmering at him in the fluorescent streetlights and glow of incoming cars’ headlights. “At least tell me that it’s within reasonable walking distance. I need to be back at a decent time and I’m too exhausted to get some exercise.” she said.

“ _Actually_ ,” Bucky began, his voice stretching, holding her back as he stepped onto the street to check on either side of the street. “It’s _right_ around the corner; this upcoming left turn.” He took her hand in his and dropped it to his side, leading her to dart through the little incoming traffic that was on the road at this hour. She jogged by his side, their hands conjoined.

She hummed as they hopped up onto the curb and took a sharp left, her hand returning to his normal spot on the fold of his elbow. “Oh, wow,” she mumbled. “didn’t figure it’d be _this_ close. What, is it a student bar, or something?” 

He eyed her, giving her a playful glare. “I wouldn’t take you to a _bar_ ; you’re not even legal, yet.” he responded, chastising. “It’s a student place, _yeah,_ technically. Look, cm’here…” he spoke, trailing off as he unwound his hand from her elbow to place it on the small of her back, ushering her gently to a hole-in-the-wall entryway, one that was only visible with red neon lights reading _Best Pizza in the City!_

Bucky reached an arm past her to take ahold the door handle, yanking it swiftly towards them to open up enough space for her to proceed in front of him and her following him. She stopped to kick the snow that had gathered off her boots at the doorway. “Best pizza in the city?” she asked, eyeing him as he lead her further down the narrow hallway into an opening. 

In front of them, a dimly lit, tiny pizza parlour; no seats, no tables, barely even enough countertop room to fit a cash register, and behind the tabletop, a peeling menu hung above. “No kidding you.” Bucky responded, urging her with a tap to her back towards the counter. T

hey were the only ones in the restaurant save for the man behind the cash, a young kid, no older than sixteen. “I know, there are probably a million other places in the city that claim that title, but this is the real deal, I swear.” he said, pausing for a moment. "I went to high school not far from here; my friends and I went to this place all the time."

The teenager behind the cash register slowly put away his phone, still slouching forward in front of the register, in preparation to take their orders. Confidently, Bucky strode past the girl and placed his hand flat on the counter. 

“One medium Neapolitan, please,” he began, already digging into the back pocket of his jeans to snag his wallet. “and for the lady, whichever soda she wants, and for me, a Pabst Blue Ribbon.” He gestured for her to place her drink order.

“Just a diet coke, please.” she said quietly once prompted.

Bucky removed his brown leather wallet, fingering it open and withdrawing a ten dollar bill. “Let me see some ID for that beer.” the teenager said, jotting their order down in red ink and reaching behind him to put it on the kitchen window. “That’ll be nine fifty. How’re you paying?” 

Wordlessly, in answer to the kid’s question, he slid the ten across the counter, thumbing his plastic driver’s license out from his wallet to flash to the kid, who accepted it with a once-over and a nod.

The kid took the bill, pressing a button to open up the register. “You want change?” he asked.

Shaking his head in response, Bucky folded his wallet back up and shoved it into his pocket before stepping away from the counter, choosing to lean on the wall just adjacent to the tabletop. The girl trailed after him until she stood facing him with a small smile on her lips, absentmindedly swaying side-to-side in her spot. 

“So for what reason did you want to kidnap me and take me for pizza tonight?” she teased. “Were your plans before too boring, or something? Felt like distracting me?” 

Bucky leaned forward and snagged her wrists, holding them in either hand, to guide her impatient swaying in front of him playfully. He thought back to the bar, that _stranger_ who took him back to her place and let him do all kinds of rough things to her, and felt an uncomfortable lump rise to his throat, suddenly very grateful that he was clever enough not to let the stranger mark him up in return. 

“Maybe I just wanted to see you.” he answered shortly. “Maybe I missed you.” he continued.

The girl airily giggled, her cheeks flushing with a sweet shade of pink that made Bucky grin. “You _missed_ me?” she echoed lightly. “You just saw me a couple days ago.” she protested.

Abruptly, Bucky snapped his hands, still encircling her wrists, towards him, yanking her towards him. He turned her around at the last second, releasing her hands to put on the dip of her lower waist through her thick sherpa coat. 

She leaned back against him, their joined thick layers of outerwear providing a tasteful enough of a barrier as to not hint towards anything farther. “Yes, I wanted to see you, still.” he murmured in her ear, nudging her cool hair with the tip of his nose. “Think of it as saying thank you for… _helping_ me out last Wednesday.” he said.

She wiggled in his grip, tilting her head to look over her shoulder at him. “Bucky,” she began, almost warningly. “that’s definitely not something you have to thank me in _payment_ for. I was just doing what I knew I had to do. You would’ve done the same for me in a panic attack.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows knitted together, thinking, eyes darting away from her. “Panic attack?” he repeated questioningly, testing the words out for himself. “I don’t know about _that._ I don’t know _what_ it was, but I’m not prone to anxiety or panic attacks.” he said.

The girl pushed her shoulders back against his chest, expelling the air from him. “You don’t _have_ to be prone to them. Some people get them, others don’t.” she explained, facing ahead of them. 

Lifting a hand up by her side, Bucky reached up behind her to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Regardless,” he stated. “ _thank_ you. You took care of me and that means a lot. Plus, you’re here, anyways; there must be a _reason_ you agreed to let me jailbreak you.” His stubbly, sharp jawline scratched against the outer shell of her ear. “You wanted to see me too, obviously.” he concluded.

The teenager interrupted them by slamming his tanned hand atop the silver bell beside the register, with a cardboard pizza box, a beer, and a soda on the counter. 

Suddenly, the girl reached up behind her to place her mittens atop of Bucky’s shaved hair, ruffling it abruptly back and forth as she pushed off him. Bucky scrunched his face as she scratched his hair roughly whilst turning to face him with a smile. 

“I wouldn’t have kicked up a _fuss_ , per se.” she replied coyly, looking at Bucky, all six-foot with messy hair and parted, confused lips. “I could use a break. You’re right, anyways; I got pretty excited when you texted me. I was looking forward to your surprise.”

Bucky planted his palms on the wall he leaned against, recomposing himself from where he had slid slightly down, and looked at her, taken aback. “You got excited?” he clarified, distractedly propping himself off the wall to grab the pizza and drinks from the countertop. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” she answered brightly. “Bucky Barnes seems to always bring a good time wherever he goes.” She wrapped a loose arm around his lower waist, squeezing gently as he stacked everything. “That’s one of my favourite things about being your friend.” 

All of a sudden, Bucky’s blood ran frigid in silent humiliation.

_Your friend._ The dreaded word repeated on a loop in Bucky’s mind as her arm slipped away.

He blinked, stunned, then looked at her. His rigid disposition melted upon seeing how content she looked to be there with him, in the hidden pizza shop, at midnight with him, and he couldn’t help but nod and smile. “Right.” he spoke. “Your friend.”

And it was then Bucky Barnes realized he would be damned if he wasn’t going to be the best sort of friend she’d ever met until she got it through her head that there was something more.


	8. good girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry to keep you guys waiting! thank you again for the support :) enjoy, finally some smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: oral (female receiving), slightly dubcon at the start

_B_ ucky honestly wasn’t quite sure himself what he was doing there, shifting his weight impatiently between to feet while he stood in front of a flower shop cash register, behind a handful of other customers. In his right hand, he clutched onto a small, daintily wrapped gathering of calla lilies, tagged for fifteen dollars without the wrapping; those ahead of him in line were mostly young men, matching Bucky in carrying a bundle of flowers, though they were predominantly red roses. 

For the first time in his life, seeing the other men with bouquets, who he suspected were likely going to be giving them to their significant others, made him feel absolutely confident in what he was doing. He was playing the romantic, the charmer, the one that earned a girl’s attention the old fashioned way, and it made him feel proud of himself.

He spotted the florist shop only a few blocks down the street from the girl’s apartment when he was last guiding her to his favourite pizza joint, the idea to leave her flowers, guised as another way of saying thank you, popping immediately to his mind. 

Frankly, while Bucky _was_ endlessly grateful to her for helping him calm down at the group meeting two weeks ago, the flowers meant something more to him. If she wasn’t _yet_ catching on that he liked her more than a friend, then the flowers lilies surely would give her that little extra push, and that idea was exciting.

At the front of the line, Bucky asked for the lilies to be garnished in brown paper wrapping and thin twine knotted at the centre of the bundled stems, under the impression that the simple, rustic decoration would be something the girl appreciated. 

Wearing a proud smile, he extended his debit card to the cash register’s manager before checking the matte black face on his watch. It was only seven-thirty on a Thursday evening—certainly the best time to catch her in her spare time if he was gaging her class schedule correctly.

There was a special skip in his stride as he exited the florist, his exit causing a little silver bell to chime as the door swung outwards into the cool winter air. The windchill hit his stubble-bristled face first, blowing frostily against his bare skin as he took a right out from the flower shop. Carefully, as he walked, he diligently unzipped his bomber jacket halfway just enough to fit the thin bundle of flowers inside, holding it to his warm sweater before redoing the closing. 

His combat boots parted the gray city slush as he walked along the streets, adjacent to the lanes of honking, congested cars to his left and a stream of pedestrians ahead of him. Holding an arm steadily against the outline of the flowers through his jacket to ensure their security, he elbowed his way through the slow walkers ahead of him, pacing down the sidewalk.

He wasn’t yet sure _how_ exactly the flowers were to be delivered. He figured the way softest on his ego would be to leave them with the security guard at the lobby, but there _was_ a certain thrilling aspect to giving it to her in person. He could almost visualize the pink flushing to the apples of her cheeks bashfully before her fine-boned arms threw themselves around his neck in a body-thumping hug, playfully slapping his shoulder, chastising. 

Then she would lead them on the elevator ride up to her apartment clutching his hand in one and the bouquet of lilies in the other, and proceed to have mind-numbingly romantic first-time sex because her roommate wouldn’t be home, right at the perfect time.

Or, at least, that’s how _Bucky_ would have it in best case scenario. 

Realistically, he understood there was some chance that she wouldn’t accept them, would then shoot Bucky a text writing him up for trying to pursue unprofessional relationships.

And back he would be in the seemingly endless cycle of trying to woo her. 

Bucky held the flowers to him looser, as to not crush them and detract from their perfection, as he rounded the next corner, turning down onto her street, one of the many in the student ghetto. 

Surprisingly, as he wouldn’t expect on a Wednesday evening, he passed by many groups of already drunk students making their way back to their place, all clutching onto each other and squealing and giggling.  He suavely swung his torso to the side to watch a pair of two girls brush by him, nearly colliding into his shoulder as they passed, laughing.

He exhaled a defeated sigh, eyeing the two unapologetic girls wander up into a nearby apartment’s lobby before reorienting himself back facing forward to continue walking. The walkway ahead of him was vastly illuminated by rustic brass street lamps, casting weak beams of light every couple steps—safer for the students walking home alone, Bucky figured. 

He would see practically everything down the block; to the upcoming right of him, there was two guys sitting on their front porch, sharing a cigarette in the cold, and to the left, he could see the girl’s entryway, two shadowed bodies exiting the front door.

The couple stepped further out onto the brownstone’s stairs, slinking into the light only ten odd yards in front of where Bucky was walking. His head lifted to look up at the shifting movement in the light, and it was then he saw the girl, stepping backwards down the top step with her arms outstretched. 

Bucky stopped, focused. She was beaming up at whoever was in front of her on the top step, wearing a long patterned skirt, a leather jacket, and a damned neon beanie over styled hair.

Steve Rogers stepped completely out of the shadow and the picture was painted. 

He looked down at the student in admiration, his arms hooked loosely atop her shoulders and hers linked around his hips. One of his gloved hands reached up from its place on her arm to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, tucking it under the fold of her beanie before ducking down to press a kiss atop the band. 

She scrunched her face in response, removing her arms from around his lower torso to cup his cheeks, pulling downwards as she reared back to face up at him. 

Feeling an intense, sharp heat spread from forehead to his fingertips as he stood, paralyzed, watching the girl’s mouth move, saying something Bucky would wish anything away to be able to hear. He could barely register his body’s reaction to shock, to stabbing, hurting betrayal deep in the core of his chest, only able to see Steve bend down in response to her question and press his mouth to hers. 

It was brief—only a two-second peck, but it was too much for Bucky to handle.

Bucky blinked for the first time in what felt like hours, eyes stinging and feeling warm as he darted his eyes away to the his boot sunken in slush. He refused the urge to look up and digest more of what was happening, the pain too prominent to let him focus on anything else other than darting to the nearest apartment’s front stairs and slamming his back against the handrail. 

His chest was heaving quickly with rushed breaths, his hand leaving the spot over his jacket where it was securing the flowers to reach blindly behind him for something tangible to ground him. Bare skin met with cool, iced iron hand railing, pinching his eyes closed for a moment before lifting his head to the street, blinking dumbly, dazed through the softly falling flurries.

Steve was already crossing the street, weaving through the line of parked cars down road as he buttoned up his ash-coloured coat. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked down the street towards the intersection Bucky had turned onto, throwing one last brilliant grin and wave good-bye to the girl.

Instinctively, as soon as Steve’s head was turned to face in front ahead of him, Bucky pushed himself the handrail, striding quickly to his right towards the girl’s apartment. After the couple seconds it took to close the distance, Bucky slowed to a lulling stop at the bottom stair, facing up at the top of the stairs.

“ _Jane!_ ” 

His call out was blunt, harsh. He could see the girl’s hand, which clutching a lanyard of keys and plastic cards, still in front of the door, he was certain she’d heard him.

Stiffly, she looked over her shoulder, eyebrows already in a frown, as she met Bucky’s eyes.

“B— _Bucky_?” she stammered uselessly, turning her body around to face him entirely. She licked her lower lip quickly, folding her arms in front of her chest. “What’re you doing here?” she asked.

He climbed the cement stairs slowly, unzipping his jacket passively to reach for the slightly crushed bouquet of flowers. By the time he made it up to the top, he was clutching onto the brown, paper-wrapped bundle, already spotted with wet dots from the falling snowflakes. 

She watched him come closer under the building’s covering, eyes wide and frankly, looking close to tears. Eyeing his hand uncomfortably, she watched him present the bundle, shaking them gently before offhandedly tossing them aside to the handrail. 

The girl’s disposition weakened, her eyes searching his. “I’m sorry, it’s not what it looks like.” she spoke, rushed, as she sought out his hand with one of hers. “I promise, Bucky, _please_ —” Her dainty, leather-gloved fingers wrapped around the top of his hand.

Promptly, Bucky shook her light grip from his hand and instead, unexpectedly claimed her waist with both palms, still cool from his walk through the winter air. He swiftly drew his hands forward, bringing the girl to him. The girl’s eyes widened, taken aback, as she stumbled into his chest from the force of his snare, her palms immediately flying to push back against his body, squirming against him.

“Don’t just grab me like I’m a _child_!” she protested, further applying force to his chest to try and push off him, wiggling in between his grip over her jacket, efforts growing tired.

Bucky exhaled dramatically, rolling his neck before glaring at her. “If you’re ‘gonna _act_ like one then that’s exactly how I’m ‘gonna _treat_ you!” he argued back, hands tightening around the curve of her torso. “Lying to me, telling me you _care_ for me and _like_ me and preaching honesty when you’re running around doing shit like _this!_ ” The girl’s lips tightened, eyes watering as she looked at him.

“I haven’t _lied—_ I _do_ care for you, I fucking _do;_ I’ve _always_ been honest!”

“You have no goddamn right to talk about anything related to honesty,” he said, almost gritting it out through his sudden flare of frustration. “You’ve known how I felt about you since the first time we met and still you make me go through the wringer to prove I’m not just some pet project!"

The jab made her eyes soften. That much he noticed. “Bucky, no—” she began, wilted.

“And all through the while,” Bucky continued feverishly. “You’re seeing my best friend. Yet, you continue all this bullshit about caring for me and listening to what I have to say. You don’t care—”

Abruptly, she used the support he provided from clutching her to prop herself up on the tips of her boots, closing the height discrepancy between the two, and cupped her gloved hands around the neckline of his jacket, then did the one thing she knew she could never do.

She kissed him.

Bucky stepped back for support as she practically jumped into him, his hands falling from her waist as he stood, shocked, unmoving. Against his still lips he felt the soft push of hers, her fingers clutching his jacket desperately as to hold him closer to her. 

She moved her lips against him, trying to arise some sort of response in him, to no avail. The movements stilled after a moment, having given up on trying to force something she figured would never happen—no way would Bucky would want to kiss her after doing something like this.

Pathetically, she slid down the front of his body as she lowered her toes, removing her mouth from his. Bucky watched as she pulled away to remove her touch from around him, eyes blinking away tears as she looked away in embarrassment, pawing at her nose.

Still partly recovering from the shock, Bucky instantly pounced her as soon as her heels stood atop the cement. One of his bare hands snapped up to cup her chin between his thumb and index, holding her jaw as he ducked down to smash his lips to hers.

The girl learned quickly to respond, crooning her neck upwards to fit further in his hand, her lips starting to move in tandem against his. His kiss was hard and passionate from having him been feeling bruised and betrayed, their mouths locking together perfectly. She parted her lips to accommodate him, the sucking of his mouth on her bottom lip, his swiping tongue. 

His movements were too intense for her, her mind swimming as they went from barely having touched each other to full-fledged making out in a matter of moments. He lead her naturally in the kiss, opening his mouth wider as to not let her kiss him, teasing her. 

He opened his eyes hazily to watch her efforts of trying to continue kissing, to encourage him to not tease her, with half of a smirk on his widened mouth.

The girl grabbed at the sides of his neck as he closed his mouth to instead stamp hot, frustrated kisses from the corner of her lips to behind her ear, making her gasp out for air, eyes still shut. She panted against him as she ran her hands down to his collarbone, feeling his hot mouth trail across the soft, sensitive part of her throat to nudge her head upwards, sucking harshly into her jawline.

He attempts to mold his to hers caused them to start walking backwards, backing the two of their entangled bodies back into the front door of the apartment’s entryway. Bucky reached blindly behind her body, fishing for the doorknob as he continued sucking on the skin exposed from her silk camisole’s neckline. Smoothly, he turned it, causing the girl to stumble backwards into the building’s landing. 

Bucky grabbed her instantly to draw her back to him, swinging the door shut behind him as he hooked an arm around her waist, flattening his hand against the small of her back. She was eager to reconnect their mouths too, her body panting as she breathed heavily, eyebrows knotted as she press her lips flush to his again.

The girl was almost ashamed to say that it felt good— _almost._

The delicious way that their bodies were working together, doing something that she was always too scared to admit she _wanted_ , was irresistible. She’d considered what it would be like to kiss Bucky, to feel the scratching of his facial hair on her, but each time she would start thinking about it, she would stop herself, favouring the just side of her that knew it wasn’t right to do something like that with a _subject._

His body was hard against hers, overpowering her to manipulate her body to grind into the front of his hips. She let out a gentle whimper, muffled from his angry kisses, as she felt her body start to respond in way of a tingle between her thighs. 

Swaying the hemline of her skirt up into his lower torso, she hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his black jeans, murmuring something incomprehensible. 

“ _What_ —?” Bucky mumbled offhandedly.

She reluctantly moved away from the punishing kiss, lips already puffy and reddened. “I said,” she began, panting. “Come here.” 

Tugging on his belt loops as she turned away from him, she lead him in rounding the bannister to start up the stairs leading to the second floor of the aged building. He replaced his belt loops with her hand for hers to hold, bringing him up the stairs in rapid steps, her combat boots slamming into the steps in unison with his.

At the top of the stairs the girl spun around to press another quick, passionate kiss to his lips as he stood a step under her. She pulled away too fast for his liking, leaving him to continue following her up onto the second floor as she guided his hand down the dimly lit. 

They passed a dozen odd doors before reaching an old dark cherrywood one that matched the others apart from the number, two-sixteen nailed onto the door in golden figures.

The girl opened the already unlocked door with a quick hand, turning the handle to lead the two into what Bucky figured to be her place. By the time she had the front door closed behind them, locking it with a twist of her fingers at his side, there was another voice, shouting distantly from another rooms.

“Hey, you home?” the voice, feminine and young, called out.“Everything went well?”

The girl looked to her right across the tiny living room they stood in, consisting of the attached kitchenette, a couch, modest coffee table, and matching television. She thought about the question for a moment as she leaned into Bucky, pressing her stomach slowly, testing, into his groin. 

“Yeah, I’m home!” the girl responded loudly after a minute, fingers dancing lightly atop Bucky’s stubble. “It was fine— _listen_ , Zoey, I’m really tired, so I’m going to head to bed and study for a bit!” she continued.

Bucky stiffened against the front door, reacting to the silky sliding motion of her skirt rubbing against his fly. “No problem!” the other voice replied—Zoey, as Bucky had collected, who he supposed was the girl’s roommate. “I won’t be a bother; enjoy your evening!”

“You _brat._ ” Bucky muttered gruffly, grabbing her hips through her skirt to wind her to face the other way, manipulating her ass into his lap. He lowered his face to her neck, batting away some hair in the way to her neck, then pressed his blunt teeth into the expanse of her shoulder. 

She made a small noise as she bent her arm upwards to grab the back of his neck, encouraging him to continue. Snaking a hand down from her hip to the apex of her inner legs, he boldly pressed two fingers through her skirt to slot into the clef of her thighs, rolling his fingertips.

He felt her slacken, her head rolling back into his shoulder as he lapped at her neck, fingers still pressing down right where she needed it. Her eyes fluttered closed, lips parting, as he skillfully summoned a physical reaction in shape of bucking hips and stuttered breaths. 

“You—we have to be _quiet…_ ” she whispered near his ear. “My room’s o—over here.”

Bucky removed his hand from where he was stroking her clit through her clothing, releasing her so she could step away from him past the kitchenette. He followed the girl around the corner down one of two hallways with careful footsteps, diligent not to make any excess noise. 

Hand assuming its place in his, she brought him down the short hall to her room, where the door was already halfway opened.

He barely registered that he was in her _bedroom_ —cream-coloured walls mostly occupied with band and movie posters, her work desk tucked in the other corner with the lamp shining onto her class notes. All he could think about was shutting and locking the door behind him as she wandered in front of him, already in the process of removing her leather jacket.

The conservative size of her room meant that when Bucky abruptly pushed her backwards, her back landed atop her twin-sized mattress with a bounce, her jacket completely unzipped. The girl propped herself up on her elbows, fingers trembling from anticipation as she slipped her arms from her jacket, discarding it onto her bedroom floor with a toss. 

Bucky stood at the foot of her bed above her, looking down at her with darkened eyes as he unzipped his own puffy bomber, drinking in her disheveled appearance. Curiously, she outstretched a foot in between his wide-set feet, dancing her boot up the surface of his jeans until she neared his groin, a visibly growing outline semi-prominent through his denim.

Gently, unlike how he was acting moments prior, he grasped her bare calf before her foot reached his crotch, stilling her movements to press a kiss to where he had her caught. She watched for a moment before relaxing her elbows, lying back onto the mattress while still eyeing him. 

Gradually, the hand on her calf smoothed upwards, bending her leg to continue kissing up to her inner knee. 

Her skirt started to drift down to her hips as Bucky bent her leg, his free hand moving to the side of her skirt that hadn’t yet fallen to bunch up the fabric in his grip. The girl had drawn her bare arms up around her head, rolling her neck to smile at Bucky with a tilted face. Bucky smirked slightly, maintaining her eye contact as he rolled her skirt up around her hips.

He continued kissing up her inner leg, planting hot, wet kisses on each inch of skin he came across while moving up in between her thighs. Just as his cheek touched the material of her jade-coloured underwear, he lowered himself onto his knees at the foot of her bed. 

He took her hips in his hand to carefully pull her down the bed, scrunching her skirt further to expose her panties and naked thighs entirely, so that she was on the edge of the mattress.

Still wearing his winter jacket, he placed the leg he was holding over his shoulder, her body nearly recoiling at the cool temperature of his coat. “Do you know how _angry_ I am right now?” he grumbled against the skin of her inner thigh before stamping another kiss.

“Show me?” the girl sighed out, her beanie having been removed to leave her hair sprawling out like a halo around her head, her hand clutching the top sheet she laid upon.

Bucky thought for a moment before shaking his head, exhaling warm air over her centre, causing her to shiver. He hooked his arms around the outside of her thighs, straightening her hips as he searched for the waistband of her panties under her bunched skirt.

“Not right now.” he answered decidedly. “I just want to show you how much better than anyone else I can make you feel.” With that, he thumbed the lace band of her underwear to drag down her legs.

The girl’s hips squirmed in want as the fabric slid down her, Bucky grabbing it once it was around her ankles and letting it drop between his planted knees. Resuming his position with his arms around her upper thighs, securing her, he parted his mouth and flattened his tongue against her naked core.

He shifted his eyes up at her, her mouth already dropped open and rounded in an ‘o’ shape. Humming against her, he licked a stripe upwards, finishing with a swirl at her clit. She cried out before her elbow folded beside her head, her palm clapping down on her mouth as Bucky began sucking.

She was already wet without Bucky’s help, a thin, shiny sheen having gathered right at her inner thighs, but Bucky continued with sloppy, passionate motions on her clit, lapping at her clit messily. Her other hand reached for his head, fingers sheathing through the outgrown buzzcut as she tugged on his roots, muffled moans sounding out through her palm.

“Has she met Steve—your roommate?” Bucky asked teasingly, pausing to watch her reaction to his leaving. She circled her hips weakly atop the mattress, his hold on her thighs preventing her from squirming too much. “‘Should move your hand so she can discover his best friend’s eating you out.”

The girl whimpered, her thighs squeezing softly around Bucky’s head, silently pleading with him to continue. Bucky removed a hooked bicep from her upper thigh to slip his hand under her knee instead, moving to where his mouth was working against her. He resumed, dirtily spitting onto her naked heat before closing his mouth around her clit again.

He sunk his middle finger into her with ease, encouraging her thighs to widen with a more constricting grip on her hip. Hot, tight, wet silk encased his finger, causing Bucky to chew on his lip to try and distract from the restricting confinement of his jeans. Testing, he curled his finger at the knuckle, stroking upwards against the ridges of her walls, making her hips try and thrust to meet his hand.

His finger disappeared within her before retracting with slick stickiness coating his skin, withdrawing to the tip before swiftly driving back in. Tongue tracing her clit, his mouth covered her, his finger establishing an even rhythm of pushing in and out of her while still curling his finger within.

The girl’s hand-covered noises were getting louder, her eyes screwed shut as she arched her back off the mattress, fucking herself on his finger in an effort to get him to quicken his pace. Her nails scratched against his scalp, fingers still sheathed through his dark, cropped hair.

Confident that she could withstand it, Bucky slipped in his index finger to join his middle, thumb bent inwards to his palm as he felt her tighten around him.

“ _Please,_ Bucky.” He made out beneath her hand covering her mouth.

In response, a swift, light spank was delivered to the side of her bare thigh, making her bite down onto the meat of her palm as she dug the heels of her boot into his back. His hand left her thigh, reaching up her body to untuck her silk camisole from the waistband of her skirt distractedly.

Increasing the pace of his thrusts, delivering his fingers with a more rough, edged tempo, he simultaneously slipped his other hand under the bottom hem of her top, skimming over her goosebump-pebbled upper abdomen.

He nuzzled his nose into her as he continued sucking on her bud, flattened palm smoothing over the expanse of her stomach beneath her shirt. Palm reaching her breasts under her shirt, he palmed her lazily over the thin lining of her bra, making her arch further into him. Her grip on his hair disappeared, leaving to cup her hand over his through her shirt, squeezing.

Her body was starting to grow rigid, the muscle in her thigh clenching over his shoulder as the pace of her own thrusts increased, eager to meet his movements harder and faster. The groping of her breasts grew rougher, her hand guiding him to squeeze her with more force. 

“Oh, _fuck,_ I’m ‘gonna—” the girl whined out, voice still quiet enough to now arouse attention from down the hall.

Just as her upper half began to lift off the mattress, Bucky cruelly stopped his movements, removing his mouth from her centre to lift his head and look at her.

The girl let out a wrecked, shivering sigh as her back lowered onto the bed, eyes opening in shock. “What— _no_ , Bucky,” she began under her breath, nudging his hand. “ _Please._ ” she begged.

Bucky chuckled, circling the pads of his fingertips against her spongey walls to soothe her. “ _Shh_ , baby,” he whispered. “Settle down and let me take care of you.” 

He watched her chest deflate, defeated, before placing his open mouth on her core again, letting spit dribble down his chin as he licked her clit again. The groping of her chest picked up again, the want to just yank down her blouse and expose her breasts nearly impossible for Bucky to ignore, quick fingers making work of repeated pumping. 

It didn’t take much longer for her to be coming harder than she thought possible, the added edge of being refused orgasm prior adding to the power that rocked through her body. Every nerve on her body buzzed, a wash of a lightning-fast shudder spreading through her. 

She tightened around Bucky’s fingers, her hips now thrashing and squirming wildly around him as she rode Bucky’s fingers, grinding her clit deeper into his awaiting tongue.

She had to cover her mouth again as to not cry out loudly. “Good girl,” Bucky purred. “That’s it.”

The girl’s body weakened, slumping back against the mattress as her chest heaved, panting. 

And when Bucky looked up at her, he swore it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.


End file.
